Phoenix From the Ashes
by AltruousAlliterator
Summary: The war with Voldemort took a dark turn. One that ravaged the Earth and doomed humanity. Harry Potter has lost everyone he loved. When he interrupts a Dark ritual and is sent into another world, he sees familiar faces and events from his past occurring in front of him. Will he fight against the darkness? Or will his past failures consume him? OOC Harry; H/Multi; AU; Trope Heavy.
1. A Hero's Past

**Author's Note:**

Welcome to the rewrite of Phoenix From the Ashes. I just wanted to start out by saying that I've taken a lot of the constructive criticism I received and will try to implement them in this refresh. This is the only time I will rewrite this story. I'm not in the habit of starting over more than once. Whatever happens will happen. My only goal is to write a story that I enjoy writing, that will hopefully be enjoyed by others.

This is influenced by several HP fanfics I have read over the past five years. There will be several tropes and cliches throughout this story. Get over it. Not every fanfic is a peerless work of original ideas. This most certainly won't be one, though I will _attempt_ to not make it stale and forgettable. That being said, know that the story is still being written in my head. I've worked out a general idea of the plot, but it may change if I find a direction I like better.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything related to Harry Potter other than my OCs. A big thanks to Jo Rowling for giving me a sandbox to play in. This applied to the whole story, so I will not be repeating this in every chapter.

* * *

"Harry Potter" – Speech

'Harry Potter' – Thoughts

"§Harry Potter§" – Parseltongue

"_Harry Potter_" – Flashback Speech

'_Harry Potter_' – Flashback Thoughts

Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, laid dying in a pool of his blood. Just a few feet away from him, laid the mangled corpse of his fated arch-nemesis, the Dark Lord Voldemort. After years of war, he found himself tired of it all. Everyone he had ever cared about had died, and he was honestly looking forward to seeing them in the afterlife.

His life's story was filled with hardship and suffering. He was born the son of James and Lily Potter on July 31st, 1980 in St. Mungo's Hospital. His birth came at a time of great strife and turmoil.

The Blood War of the 1970's had killed many people in the British magical community. An up and coming Dark Lord and his followers had made it their mission to eradicate those who they deemed to be of "impure blood".

Harry's birth fell under the bounds of a prophecy that determined him to be a candidate to end the Dark Lord's crusade once and for all. The seer who delivered it, an alcoholic named Sybil Trelawney, had been interviewing for the position of Divination Professor at Hogwarts School of the Witchcraft and Wizardry. The same school his parents had attended for 7 years.

She had gone into a trance and shared the prophecy with Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He had latched onto the words and attempted his utmost to determine who the "child of prophecy" was. Incidentally, the Dark Lord Voldemort ultimately did that for him.

A spy had been listening in on the interview and managed to hear the first half of the prophecy. The spy had subsequently informed Voldemort, and the hunt had begun.

His parents, worried for his safety, had gone into hiding. They had used a Fidelius Charm, a charm that utilized a Secret Keeper to keep the knowledge of their location safe from their enemies. Sadly, they had trusted the wrong person. Peter Pettigrew, one of his father's best friends, betrayed them and gave up the secret to Voldemort.

The hunt for the child of prophecy had ended when Voldemort attacked Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow on Halloween 1981. His mother and father sacrificed themselves to protect him, and for some reason unknown to everyone, he managed to survive the Killing Curse and "destroy" Voldemort. This feat earned him the title of "The Boy-Who-Lived".

'Wasn't that just a load of grade-A bullshit.' Harry thought as he snorted in disdain.

He winced at the amount of pain the action brought. A couple of ribs had punctured his lung, which was probably why it was getting so hard to breath. Damn what he wouldn't give for a quicker death at this point.

That was the official story that everyone had been disseminated to the public. The one all of his peers had been brought up reading stories about. However, they never realized the truly insidious manipulations of the man they all looked up to. Albus Dumbledore had been so desperate to end the war that he had concocted a false prophecy.

Harry had met with Fate herself a while back and had been blown away by the revelations she had shared. The magic of prophecy was something that was treated as sacrosanct by all magicals and for good reason. Every word uttered by a seer was imbued with the magic and power of Fate herself.

When Dumbledore created a false prophecy and forced a seer to utter it, he committed a grave sin. In his hubris, he had meddled in magic he couldn't possibly understand, and the Potters had paid the price for his actions. To even out the scales, Fate had personally intervened and imbued her power into the false prophecy changing it into a true prophecy.

With the way it had been phrased, Harry was gifted with greater potential magical strength and talent than the Dark Lord Voldemort. This action led to a series of events that had doomed not only his life but the entire world and everyone in it.

After the death of his parents, Dumbledore had placed him with his closest family, the Dursleys. Petunia Dursley was his mother's sister, a vicious banshee with a vindictive streak a mile wide. He justified the placement by mentioning that his mother's loving sacrifice had imbued a powerful protection on him.

The love between Harry and his new family would strengthen the blood wards he had erected around the Dursley's house, thereby ensuring his safety. Despite Dumbledore's frequent claims of him being raised in a loving environment, Harry had been brought up in a physically and emotionally abusive household.

'Love is the greatest magic of all, my ass. Dumblefuck did everything he could to keep me weak and submissive. Those assholes had been in on it the entire time. I wish I could have killed them myself.'

This was something that Harry had come to realize as he grew older. Due to Fate's intervention, Dumbledore had wanted to keep him as weak as possible, to be the perfect sacrifice to end Voldemort's life.

His torturous upbringing had turned him into an introverted, socially inept boy who did everything he could to gain the affection of others. He became a weak and submissive puppet to those who knew how to pull his strings. It was something the old goat capitalized on when Harry was reintroduced to the world of magic at the age of 11.

'Who would have thought that abusing a child and preventing him from forming any meaningful connections with his peers would monumentally fuck up his development? Surely such a child would become a perfectly well-adjusted adult who could properly contribute to society and not a psychopathic murderer.'

He briefly wondered when exactly he had become such a jaded cynic. After more than a decade of war, he felt that life wasn't worth living anymore. He had walked over a mountain of corpses to get to this point. The insanity and terrifying strength of his opponent had spurred him to delve into the Darkest of magics in an attempt to fight back.

Looking back on his Hogwarts years, the most frequent question he found himself asking was 'how the hell did I survive?'.

Dumbledore's behind the scenes machinations was often the answer to that question. The man had made his school life a literal living hell with the various types of torture he faced on an annual basis. These frustrating and demoralizing experiences were meant to persuade him to embrace death at Voldemort's hand to save his loved ones in an act of martyrdom.

A tired smirk came onto Harry's face.

'Most of the bastards didn't deserve it anyway, but here I am. Talked into dying at the hand of old Tommy boy to protect the remaining people on Earth.'

The irony of his current situation was not lost on him.

His first year had been the best, even though he had faced off against his parent's murderer and burned a man to death with his bare hands at the end of the year. The wonders of magic and all the possibilities had enchanted him. He dreamed of all the things he could do that would improve his lot in life and allow him to find the happiness happiness he desperately sought.

The fact that he had killed a man at 11 was never addressed. No therapy or counseling for him, no sir! He was the Boy-Who-Lived after all. A legendary hero who fought dragons and saved princesses. What was a little homicide in comparison?

His second year had been much worse, as his ability to speak to snakes was taken as confirmation of him being a rising Dark Lord. To clear his name, he had fought a basilisk, one of the deadliest magical creatures in existence, to rescue his best friend's sister. He had been bitten and laid dying, much like he was now, only to be saved by the headmaster's phoenix, Fawkes.

'I killed a fucking basilisk with a sword to clear my name, and it still wasn't enough for those ingrates. I should have just died. At least then, none of the shit that happened afterward would have been my problem.'

His third year had been an interesting one. Sirius Black, an insane mass murderer who sought his death, turned out to be his godfather and innocent of his crimes. The one person who could have taken him in and given him a decent childhood had been illegally sent to prison for 12 goddamn years.

After attempting and failing to catch the real betrayer, Peter Pettigrew, Harry thought he could free Sirius through his witness testimony. He had dreamed of leaving the Dursleys once and for all, only to have reality kick him in the teeth due to Dumbledore and the Minister's actions. Snape, the petulant, greasy dungeon bat had poisoned the well and convinced the Minister that Sirius was guilty despite knowing that Pettigrew was alive. Dumbledore had backed up his lackey, and all his hopes were dashed to the ground.

That was not at all mentioning the soul-sucking demons that were sent to "protect" him, only to try and kill him every chance they got. Despite all of it, he found someone who truly cared about him, and that had given him hope for a better future.

Then came the worst year he had ever experienced. The year of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The ancient and deadly tournament had been revived at Dumbledore's behest to "improve international relations". In actuality, it was another one of Dumbledore's schemes to allow the resurrection of Voldemort to continue the fulfillment of the prophecy.

He had been entered into the tournament against his will and struggled in the aftermath. His friends and his entire House had all but abandoned him. The teachers had done nothing to prevent him from being harassed and hurt.

Nearly everyone in the school save for a couple of people had turned against him. The ostracization had hurt him deeply. All the people he had thought would be on his side were nowhere to be found. Coincidentally, this led to one of the best things that ever happened to him. Seeking a private haven away from the rest of the school, he had gone back into Salazar Slytherin's fabled Chamber of Secrets.

Tucked away atop the basilisk's nest was a study with a joined bedroom. In the study, overlooking the desk was a portrait of a handsome sleeping man with a snake lazily draped around his neck. He had been intimidated by the portrait and unsure of how to approach it.

After half an hour of hemming and hawing, he finally worked up the nerve to wake the man up.

Harry felt tears pool in his eyes.

'Salazar. I'm so sorry I couldn't keep my promise.'

He closed his eyes as he reminisced on their first conversation. It felt like ancient history at this point.

"§_Well, you seem much saner than the last boy. What's your name, child?_§"

Harry gulped as the man's piercing green eyes bore into his.

"§_My name is Harry, sir. Harry Potter. Are you Salazar Slytherin?_§"

He had not expected the sarcastic response that followed.

"§_No, I'm Godric Gryffindor. My portrait just happens to be placed in the secretive, private chamber of Salazar Slytherin. What an idiotic question. How can you be my descendant_?§"

That had brought Harry out his daze quickly. He would never tolerate being called the descendant of a Dark Wizard the likes of Salazar Slytherin. Not after how much trouble that association earned him in his second year.

"§_I'm not your descendant. Your descendant is Tom Riddle, though he goes by the name Lord Voldemort nowadays._§"

Salazar gained a pensive look on his face upon hearing Harry's answer.

"§_Tom Riddle. It has been a long time since I last heard that name. I see his silly little anagram has gained the notoriety he so desperately craved all those years ago. However, I am quite certain you are my descendant, Harry Potter. Otherwise, you would not have been able to enter my chamber._§"

"§_How exactly does being able to enter your chamber make me your descendant?_§"

"§_There are several ways to get into the chamber, but all of them require a Parseltongue password. Parseltongue is a magical language that is unique to the Slytherin family. Anyone who isn't a descendant will never be able to speak it._§"

Harry shook his head while responding.

"§_I was attacked by Tom Riddle as a baby and somehow managed to survive the Killing Curse. Headmaster Dumbledore says that connected us in a way that allowed me to inherit Voldemort's ability to speak Parseltongue._§"

Salazar looked incensed by Harry's words.

"§_Then your Headmaster Dumbledore is a fool who doesn't know what he's talking about. Take it from the man who made it possible for his family to speak the noble language of the serpents. You are my descendant, and after hearing your story, I believe I know exactly how you survived the Killing Curse._§"

Salazar started to explain about the Slytherin family history and shed some light on Harry's unique situation. It turned out that he was a child from the main line of the Slytherin family through his mother. The reason he had survived the Killing Curse that fateful night was because of the Slytherin family magic's intervention.

One of Salazar's daughters married into the Gaunt family. She was a selfish and spoiled girl who coveted the family fortune, so Salazar took precautions to protect his main line from her scheming.

He conducted a ritual that protected every male member of the main line from any person in the branch line. Any member of the branch line who attempted to harm a male of the main line would suffer the backlash of the family magic.

Voldemort, being a descendant from the branch line from the Gaunt family, fell prey to the family magic when he tried harming Harry, the true Heir Slytherin. Ironically, the sheep had been right all along when they accused him of being the Heir during his second year.

From then on, Salazar became Harry's best friend and mentor. The first thing they had done was to start working on fixing Harry's fundamentals. All the problems that Harry had faced every academic year had taken a toll on his education.

Salazar had taken an old school approach to Harry's education. It involved lecturing on magical theory and then having his enchanted security golem beat the lessons into him until he understood them. Harry had taken to the lessons like a fish to water. Within a month, he had conditioned himself both physically and magically to his limit. That was when Salazar introduced the most critical subject he would learn. Rituals.

Under Salazar's supervision, Harry underwent several rituals to improve his body and magic. He secured ingredients by Apparating from the Chamber to Diagon Alley. The Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey wards that covered Hogwarts did not affect the Chamber, which was treated as a separate entity from the castle through Salazar's unique warding scheme.

Surviving each life-threatening task by the skin of his teeth, he had become thoroughly disillusioned by the British magical world. One day, they loved him, the next day, he was a Dark Lord in training. Their bipolar attitude towards him had alienated most of them from him permanently. After venting his frustrations to Salazar one day, he had received a piece of wisdom he treasured for the rest of his life. Friends and allies are advantageous to have, but the only thing a wizard can rely on is himself and his magic.

Voldemort was an evil bastard, but nobody could deny the man's intelligence and power. Even without his Death Eaters, he was a force to reckon with. He stood out as a magical titan among wizards, at a level where few could ever hope to match him.

Harry had felt hopeless about his chances of victory until Salazar had reminded him, even the Dark Lord Voldemort started as Hogwarts student Tom Riddle. With enough time and practice, Harry could work his way up to become his equal, a position that was occupied solely by Albus Dumbledore. With that helpful pep talk, Harry had gone into the final task fired up to prove himself.

Near the end of the final task, he was portkeyed to a graveyard and ambushed. Peter Pettigrew had forced him to give his blood for a ritual to resurrect Voldemort. He came back holding the corpse of his fellow Hogwarts competitor, Cedric Diggory, crying about the return of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

'Looking back, that probably wasn't the best way to signify the return of the British Magical society's boogeyman.'

Hindsight was 20/20 in this case. His dramatic reveal of Voldemort's return had caused then Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge to stick his head in the sand, and fervently deny any claims that things were not alright.

Over the summer, a pair of Dementors were sent after him. After defending himself and his idiot cousin from having their souls sucked out, he was summoned and tried in front of a kangaroo court at the Ministry. As usual, he had been overwhelmed and under-prepared. Inevitably, Dumbledore had swooped in at the last moment to save the day. The worrying part was that the man refused to even look at him, citing security concerns.

Fudge had not been happy that Harry had escaped from being sentenced. The man invested a lot of time and money into a smear campaign that tarred and feathered both Harry and Dumbledore as fear mongers. In essence, by the time Harry returned to Hogwarts for his fifth year, he was being treated by almost everyone as "The Boy Who Cried Voldemort". Yet again, he was ostracized by the vast majority of Hogwarts, which was content to listen to the Ministry narrative.

The man had gone so far as to appoint Dolores Umbridge, his fixer, to the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. She had gone out of her way to make Harry's life a living hell through both physical and mental torture.

Everything from forcing him to write with a blood quill during their many detentions, to banning him from Quidditch for life. Whatever she could do to hamper his influence and power base was done.

The woman also refused to allow students to learn the spells to pass the class. Citing bogus Ministry guidelines, they were only allowed to learn the theory behind the spells and not use them. It was all but certain that the fifth years would fail their DADA O.W.L. exams.

That year pushed him to his limits. Put under immense strain, his willpower was tested and forged to withstand absolute agony. The crucible had been fruitful, as one of the main reasons for his survival against the demons was his ability to ignore and override pain. In a way, Dolores Umbridge had taught him a crucial skill necessary for the war against Voldemort.

The entire student population, save for the Slytherins, had shared a mutual dislike for the woman. This led to the formation of the Defense Association, colloquially known as Dumbledore's Army. A group of students led by Harry who practiced DADA spells and important combat spells to learn to defend themselves for the upcoming war.

It was a huge success, and a few of the people Harry taught ended up joining his resistance group to fight back against the Death Eaters in the future. Everything was going well, and even with the torture Umbridge was putting him through, he felt satisfaction. That all came crashing down at the end of the year.

He received a vision from Voldemort after a disastrous Occlumency lesson with Severus Snape. His godfather had been captured and was being tortured in the Department of Mysteries. Gathering his closest friends, they rode Thestrals to London and broke into the Department of Mysteries.

After being ambushed and fighting back, they were able to stall long enough for the Order to arrive. They were confident of surviving the attack when tragedy struck. His godfather had come rushing to his rescue and had taken a spell that threw him into the Veil of Death.

In a fit of anger, Harry had chased his godfather's murderer, Bellatrix Lestrange, to the Ministry lobby. There, he met Lord Voldemort himself. Just as he was about to be killed, Dumbledore showed up to protect him. Their subsequent duel showed a mastery of magic that Harry had never seen before.

As he was being pushed back, Voldemort decided to attack Harry. The attack was purely mental, as Voldemort used the soul fragment contained within Harry as a bridge to assault his mind. He endeavored to destroy Harry's soul in an attempt to possess his body and kill Dumbledore, knowing he would never retaliate against a student.

Being the stubborn young boy he was, Harry had fought him at every step. With great effort, he was able to expel Voldemort from his head. However, this action had consequences that would change Harry's life as he knew it.

After successfully fighting Voldemort off, memories that Harry didn't recall poured into his mind. He realized after a couple of minutes of disorienting flashes that they were Voldemort's memories. The revelations didn't stop there.

Unknowingly, by repelling Voldemort's attempted possession, he had absorbed the soul fragment within him. This had resulted in him gaining all of Voldemort's knowledge up until the day he attempted to murder him.

Upon freeing himself of the soul fragment, Harry had discovered something that had chilled his heart. He had been Obliviated repeatedly from a young age. The man behind the spelling? Albus Dumbledore. Yet he alone was not responsible for all of them. Ron, Hermione, Molly, and Snape all had a hand in erasing his memories.

Every single time his magic had fought back against the Dursley's abuse, Dumbledore had shown up with Pomphrey, healed everyone, erased their memories, and left. What little bouts of accidental magic he could remember doing, were the few events that Dumbledore allowed him to remember, to prepare him for his reentry into the world of magic.

He had caught Molly informing Ginny of the plan to potion him into marrying her so she would become the Lady Potter. She had caught him in a Body-Bind and Obliviated him to keep him ignorant of his station as the Heir Potter.

Ron had made several slip-ups being the jealous moron he was and had to Obliviate Harry numerous times whenever information about his family came up.

When he had found out about potions that could cure his scrawny frame and gone to Pomphrey about them, she had directed him to Snape. Snape had promptly wiped his mind of all the knowledge and then put strong compulsions on him to not proactively approach anyone for medical help.

Hermione had been the one that had hurt the most. She had been tasked by Dumbledore to make sure that Harry passed his subjects with average grades and ensure that he does not excel in any subject save for DADA. She was the counterbalance to Ron, who had no academic drive whatsoever.

Harry had shown a gift for Transfiguration, Charms, Runes, and Potions; all the fields his parents were known to be extremely talented in. He was so gifted in the subjects that he could have been called a prodigy. This had not sat well with Hermione, who felt she had studied harder than him to succeed.

She had gladly wiped his memories of academic success with a smile on her face, probably laughing at his stupidity for trusting her. It explained why the subjects had come so naturally to him when he was studying with Salazar. They had been through thick and thin together, so her betrayal had forever broken his trusting nature.

Dumbledore had seen and wiped everything that Harry had learned in the Chamber from Salazar. He used compulsions to make sure he wouldn't seek Salazar's tutelage when that was what he needed to prepare for the war.

All the knowledge of spells he had learned and rituals that he had undergone came flooding back to him. He remembered the full fight between him and Voldemort in the graveyard. Dumbledore had selectively erased the parts of the battle that showed Harry pushing Voldemort back with particularly lethal Dark curses. Although it was probably due to him being freshly revived that Harry had been able to drive him to a stalemate.

With all that knowledge forcefully being recalled all at once, Harry had fainted and woken up in the Hogwarts infirmary. He had been summoned to Dumbledore's office where he was told the prophecy in its entirety.

In summary, it was either Harry or Voldemort who had to die and they would inevitably be pushed into a confrontation. Dumbledore also revealed that he knew the abuse Harry had gone through as he mentioned dooming Harry to "ten dark years" at the Dursleys.

Harry had made his displeasure known by angrily pulsing his magic, destroying most of the delicate silver gizmos on Dumbledore's desk. After throwing his tantrum, he was packed back onto the Hogwarts Express being sent back to his prison cell in Durzkaban.

He was depressed the entire summer as he was worked to the bone and fed table scraps. Sirius' death had weighed heavily on him and had him crying himself to a fitful sleep every night. Vernon and Petunia had shown no appreciation for him saving Dudley, going so far as to blame him for everything going wrong in their lives.

It was decided that he had to "earn his keep", so Vernon had marketed him as a delinquent who needed to be disciplined through hard work to the entire neighborhood. His clients had paid him pitiful amounts of money for doing their laborious yard work, and all his hard-earned cash was taken by Vernon after he returned home.

With the Ministry finally getting their heads out of their asses, Fudge had been unceremoniously ousted from his position as Minister and Madam Amelia Bones had been a good prospect to take over. She had been attacked and killed over the summer, supposedly by Voldemort himself. The Ministry started panicking and elected the closest equivalent to Bones, Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour.

The man turned out to be a shrewd politician, using Percy Weasley to connect with the Weasley family and access Harry through them. Harry had refused to play the man's game and had gotten a harsh reminder that despite the current situation, the Ministry held a lot of power and they could make his life difficult.

Dumbledore had "rescued" him by taking him to The Burrow after his birthday. It was a good thing that he had stocked up on antidotes before leaving the previous year. While there, he discovered that not only had they upped his doses of Amortentia, but Ginny had been instructed to make more passes at him.

When he had gone school supply shopping with the traitors, he had spotted Draco Malfoy slipping into Borgin and Burkes. Harry had postulated that he had become a marked Death Eater over the summer and made his suspicions known.

He had been summarily dismissed by everyone, saying that Malfoy couldn't possibly be up to anything harmful. Harry was doubtful of their claims and the revelations of their betrayal made him loath to argue anymore.

During the first week back, he had been certain that Malfoy was up to something, so he kept a close eye on the Marauder's Map. He was tailing Malfoy one day when he had lost him and discovered a passageway on the map he had never seen before.

Following the map, he found himself back in the Chamber, coming out of one of the numerous pipes that encircled the main structure. He rushed to the study and found Salazar resting in his portrait. He had called out to him, waking him up.

To say that Salazar was unhappy would have been an understatement. He was extremely resentful about Harry not visiting him for an entire year. Harry had explained all that had happened, and Salazar had been outraged at the way his descendant had been treated.

Together, they had come up with an accelerated study plan that would go into NEWT level topics. They had chosen to use Harry's "obsession" with Draco Malfoy's secret activities as a cover for him not being there.

It had been a good plan, as neither Ron nor Hermione were aware of what he was doing when he was "tailing Malfoy". Salazar had become a harsher instructor, demanding the best out of him as he drilled the fundamentals of advanced magic into his brain.

They didn't stick to only magic, having the occasional lessons in economics, politics, and warfare. Harry had extensively studied the last war to gain any information that could be used to his advantage in the upcoming one. Slytherin was a shrewd debater who could skillfully persuade his opponents to come around to his point of view. It was a trait that Voldemort had in spades as he built up his support base among the Purebloods.

He had given them a cause to unite against Muggleborns and Halfbloods. Combined with his magical power and infamous heritage, it wasn't hard to see why many Pureblood families were willing to pledge themselves to him despite their talk of honor and dignity. Dumbledore seemed unwilling to confront the enemy, opting for passivity and reactionary tactics, despite that giving the enemy a significant advantage. Hence, Harry had to find and unite the fighters that would be able to bring the war to the Death Eaters.

Even though he was a mere Hogwarts student, he was an influential figure that could affect the outcome of the war. With that damned prophecy in play, he would have no choice but to fight even if he didn't want to.

One day, he was studying in the Chamber when Salazar had come rushing back into his portrait.

"§_Harry, your friends were just summoned to the Headmaster's office. There's a passageway behind the main tower, second one from the right that leads to a room where you can spy on the meeting. Tap your wand once on the wall. It's enchanted to be a one-way mirror and silenced, so they can't see or hear you.§"_

Harry had listened to him and followed the path to a small alcove left of the Headmaster's desk. He tapped his wand as instructed, and the wall in front of him turned crystal clear, allowing him to see inside.

He saw Dumbledore call in Ron and Hermione, and they came in and delivered a status report. It mainly detailed his suspicions about Malfoy and how he was using his free time to tail him. Dumbledore's response had surprised him with even more details that he hadn't thought to check.

"_Excellent work you two. However, we must be diligent and not lower our guards. There is too much riding on the plan for us to fail. Ronald, how has Harry's potion regimen been coming along?"_

Ron had responded with a sneer that would have made Snape proud. "_It's going great, Professor. He has no idea we've been slipping him the potions since the tournament and we've been careful with the dosages. He won't notice anything out of the ordinary._

_Along with the Loyalty Potions, Wit Dulling, and Amortentia, Mum's been thinking of adding an Impotence Draught. With the current dosages, the Amortentia won't take hold until the beginning of his seventh year._

_Even if by some miracle he gets with a girl, he won't be able to get it up. She says we could counter this with a Lust Potion keyed only towards Ginny. He would only be able to get it up with her, making him think she's the only one for him."_

He had frozen as he listened to the intricate details of their little conspiracy against him. They had been potioning him for nearly two years while he had eaten in Hogwarts and the Burrow. He felt sick as he heard Dumbledore's response.

"_Wonderful. Tell Molly she has my permission to start the dosage of Impotence Draught as soon as possible. The boy destroyed most of the blood monitors I had last year, save two before he left. Hence, I haven't been able to ascertain the status of the spells on his person._

_I will call him into my office periodically to show him some critical information he will need for the Hunt. When he's here, I can check and refresh the charms I've placed on him and his belongings as necessary. Thank you both for your efforts. Remember the end goal."_

Ron had a malicious smile on his face when he asked "_You promise that we'll be getting half of the Potter family fortune? As far as I know, only Lord Potter would be able to access the main family vault. We haven't come this far only to be stiffed at the last second by the goblins."_

'_Of course, Ron is in it for money. Greedy bastard._' Harry wasn't surprised at Ron's motivations.

Up until that point, he hadn't even known that there was a "Potter family fortune". He had been to Gringotts only a single time when he first came to get school supplies for Hogwarts. He had entrusted his vault key to Mrs. Weasley so she could buy his school supplies for him.

It made sense why they didn't want him going to Gringotts. If he realized the true wealth his family had left behind, he might have become aware of his station. This was something that the traitors did not want to happen at any cost.

Dumbledore had calmly replied to his concerns by calmly reassuring him. "_Do not worry Ronald. You and your family will be well provided for. I have, in my possession, the Potter Head of House ring and a signed will that leaves half to the Weasleys and the other half to the Order._

_I wrote it up and disguised it as standard paperwork for Harry to sign, so his signature and the magic within is authentic. The goblins will not be able to interfere with the Last Will and Testament of the Lord Potter. It would be seen as a violation of the treaty."_

Not wanting to be left out, Hermione had piped up and asked about her reward.

"_Professor Dumbledore, I hope you remembered that I get the entire Potter and Black libraries along with their grimoires. It was what we agreed upon when I started, and I too want some assurances."_

This had thrown Harry for a loop. When did he have a library? Moreover, how was she demanding the Black library? Last he checked it belonged to the Black family, not him. His questions were answered by Dumbledore soon after.

"_Of course, Ms. Granger. I have put in the necessary bequests in Harry's will, however, unless Harry takes up the Black Lordship that Sirius left him in his will, it won't hold up legally for any property of the Blacks._

_As of right now, the Order has unfettered access to the library at Grimmauld Place. Surely, we can find a way for Harry to take the lordship, and then when the plan is complete, both libraries will belong to you. Keep up the great work in your academics and I guarantee that you will become Head Girl next year."_

Satisfied with his response, Ron and Hermione had left the office, presumably to go find him.

Harry's head had been spinning at all the things they had hidden from him. He was entitled to the lordship of the Potter family. He had no idea what the title entailed, but it had to be significant from the way they had been talking about it. Sirius had designated him as the next Lord Black in his will, the reading of which Harry had not received an invitation.

He had stumbled back to the Chamber, desperately hoping to talk to Salazar about what he had heard. The conversation they had shared had been peppered with colorful swears as Salazar marveled at the depths of the conspiracy against his sole descendant.

Their political lessons had not yet touched upon Lordships, so he had given Harry a brief overview. It was at that point that Harry effectively stopped feeling anything for his friends. Earlier, he would have felt anger or sadness at the lengths they went to, but now all he felt was cold indifference. Salazar had noticed and immediately complimented Harry on his breakthrough in his Occlumency practice.

Harry had been confused until Salazar had explained that he had retreated behind his barriers moments ago when he was recalling Ron and Hermione's actions over the years. Their talk took a detour as they revisited the principles of Occlumency and Legilimency.

It turned out that Harry had great potential in both, seeing as Mind Arts was a specialty of the Slytherin family. Having a soul parasite inside him was not conducive to learning the Mind Arts, but once he was free of it, he took to them like a fish to water. They dedicated some practice time in his schedule and Harry got back into his routines with a vengeance.

It turned out to be extremely helpful in the long run, as it improved Harry's ability to recall information. The downside was the foundation of Occlumency was all about sorting through one's memories. It helped with processing information and new memories as they would all be categorized and stored separately with barriers guarding them.

With Voldemort's nearly fifty-five years' worth of memories forcefully occupying space in his mind, all the memories were piled in a big heap. This made Harry's task of sorting through his memories difficult as he had to first sort out which memories were his own and partition it separately from Voldemort's.

If he wasn't careful and mixed up their memories, his sense of self would be irreparably damaged. It didn't help that he was sorting through the memories of a psychopath who inflicted an immeasurable amount of pain and death to allies and enemies alike.

It had taken him almost two months just to split the pile, but he had steadily progressed from there on, sorting out all his memories in three weeks of daily practice. Then came the tricky part. Voldemort's memories were traumatizing, to say the least, but Harry knew that being able to access his skills and knowledge could help in the war.

So, he dedicated his Occlumency practice for the rest of his sixth year going through the memories while stripping them of their emotional context. It was a technique that Salazar had taught him to prevent the inevitable trauma caused by viewing thousands of gruesome murders and crimes against humanity.

It was through this sorting that Harry had stumbled upon the information of Horcruxes. Voldemort had been obsessed with making seven of them, because of the innate magical properties and stability of the number seven in Arithmancy.

The process involved tearing out pieces of his soul and storing them inside magical objects. The concept had been stolen by Herpo the Foul from the ancient Egyptian pharaohs and their practice of creating phylacteries.

The difference is that while the pharaohs chose to put their entire soul into the object, Herpo took it one step further by designing a ritual that only cleaved part of the soul. This would help keep the physical body stable, while also grounding the user to the physical plane.

Even if their body was destroyed, a Horcrux could potentially be used to preserve their soul in the form of a wraith. It explained exactly how Voldemort had survived that night and his form when Harry had confronted him during his first year.

He had a chilling realization that he had inadvertently been made into a pseudo-Horcrux, as Voldemort's final memory indicated that he wanted to use Harry's murder to create his last Horcrux. The ritual itself demanded that the caster murder in cold blood by utilizing the Killing Curse and then use the residual soul magic of the curse to split off a piece of their soul and guide it into a vessel.

It was theoretically impossible for a human being to become a Horcrux, as another soul couldn't take up residence in a body with a complete soul. No matter how small the piece, it would fight with the host soul and either take over or be exorcised. There was no possible way for the fragment to have remained in his head for so long unless there was some other influence involved.

It had taken him the better part of two years to figure out why that had been the case. Dumbledore had tied the blood wards around 4 Privet Drive to himself and himself alone. The part of the mother's blood dwelling turned out to be complete bullshit, as he discovered that Petunia and Lily were not blood-related. The necessary power for the blood wards came from him and the rest of his magic was tied up fixing the abuse those animals inflicted upon his body.

With most of his magic preoccupied, there was only enough left to contain the soul fragment, but not actively fight it. As Harry's magic grew, Dumbledore sealed it annually to prevent it from maturing enough to expel the soul parasite.

The only reason he had been able to absorb the fragment was because of Voldemort's attempted possession. Having been inundated with his magic and buried in his mind for so long, the fragment had become quite compatible with him. It was why his soul hadn't fought back when it merged with him.

To counter their potions regimen, Salazar instructed Harry on the brewing of a Flushing Potion. It was a rarely used healing potion that stripped out all potions in a person's bloodstream. The side effect was the agonizing vomiting and the strain it put on the stomach and throat.

Harry had gone to the Room of Requirement, drank it, and spent the next 24 hours puking his guts out. Although it was painful to go through, the potion worked as intended and he had never felt more clear-headed in his life.

He had Salazar teach him spells to check for potions in his food and drinks as well as how to brew their respective antidotes. Every day, he non-verbally and wandlessly cast the spells on the meals he consumed and without fail, they came back positive.

Harry had taken to drinking the antidotes before he drank or ate anything, which allayed any doubts the traitors might have had. He decided to unleash his inner Slytherin and keep up appearances while countering their efforts to control him covertly.

In addition to all his studies, Harry made sure to Apparate to Gringotts and get updated on Sirius' will and what he had bequeathed him. Sirius had emancipated him as his magical guardian, which allowed him to officially claim his place as Lord Black. To take up the Black lordship, the goblins informed Harry he would have to undergo a blood adoption ritual. This would effectively make Sirius his father by blood and magic, allowing him to claim the lordship due to direct line inheritance.

Otherwise, the Malfoys could make the case that Draco was more closely related and therefore had primacy. With Lucius "donating" enough money, the Wizengamot might have chosen to grant them the title and seat. He would be damned if he allowed the Black family fortune along with the priceless books and artifacts to go into Voldemort's war chest.

He imbibed the potion that contained Sirius' blood and was formally adopted into the Black family. His hair became softer and gained some luster. His facial structure became more angular with his cheekbones elevating to give an aristocratic countenance. The biggest change occurred in his bones, giving him a bit more than four inches of height.

By the end of the hour, he was reborn as Lord Harrison James Potter-Black. He had found out his real name was Harrison and not Harry. One more thing nobody had bothered to tell him.

This was a huge problem as he didn't want others to know about his ascension to lordship. After the potion's effects were complete, he signed some paperwork and was presented with the Black family ring by the Black Account Manager, Fistslam.

It was a stylized B on the seal and three ravens with rubies for eyes all on a silver band. When he had slipped the ring on, a cold breeze had flown through his very being. It was for a fleeting moment that Harry felt like something was looking through his soul and seeing all his secrets. After a moment, it resized to fit his finger, and warmth emanated from it as a raven flew out of the ring and landed on his shoulder. It bowed its head and flew into him.

He started recalling knowledge he didn't know he had. All the Black family properties, family rituals, certain spells from the grimoire, and other relevant information. It was slightly disorienting, but Harry managed to keep his wits about him. After he claimed the lordship, he was recognized as an adult in the eyes of the Ministry, and Magic itself.

At this time, he felt something odd within him. It made him feel weak and tired. He had fallen to his knees and Fistslam had gotten worried. He was taken to the medical ward where a goblin Healer had come in and conducted some tests. They found that a large part of his magic had been blocked from a very young age.

The first was a temporary block that was placed by one of his parents. Alongside the first one, starting from age 11, his magic had been suppressed annually. The magical signature behind the blocks was traced back to Albus Dumbledore.

The goblins immediately took him to a ritual room where they were able to remove the temporary block his parents had put on him. He automatically felt better, and they made appointments to get rid of the other blocks over time so his magic wouldn't overwhelm him.

Along with taking up the Black Lordship, he insisted on also taking an inheritance test. Fistslam gave him one and was shocked by the result. Other than Potter and Black, Harry was also the Heir to the Slytherin and Peverell families.

The Peverell family was self-explanatory, as the last daughter of the family married into the Potter family, but the Slytherin family was unexpected. He had been guided to Branch Manager Ragnok, who heard about his inheritances and explained the background of both families.

The Slytherin Lord's ring was not at Gringotts and the goblins felt it would be at Hogwarts. Harry had a good idea where it was, and told them. The goblins had been surprised that he had fought and slain a 1000-year-old basilisk and survived being bit when he was just 12.

Harry negotiated with the goblins to buy the basilisk corpse and make him armor from its hide and some components for himself. After a long and hard negotiation, they came to an accord and Harry left feeling satisfied with the deal.

For a small fee of 300 Galleons, Harry was able to get his glasses enchanted with a Goblin blood glamour that would mask his new appearance. When he had given them for enchanting, the goblins had found multiple charms on them that negatively affected Harry.

A Befuddling Charm that caused brief bouts of confusion and disorientation in visual acuity. A Repair-Resistance Charm that prevented the frame from being repaired fully. The list kept going on and on. It explained so many things that he had experienced during his time at Hogwarts.

He would often suffer brief bouts of dyslexia during a test or while completing an assignment. Potions ingredients would be blurry and the consistency of his preparation would be off because he couldn't see his mistakes.

It also didn't help that Ron and Hermione, the people who were spying on him were the only ones he could talk to about his problems. They no doubt reported back to Dumbledore on the success of the charms while telling him that everything was normal.

His lack of friends had left him vulnerable. That was probably the reason why no one else approached him. His "friends" had made sure to keep him isolated among their how far-reaching the conspiracy against him was, he would not be surprised if they had done so on Dumbledore's explicit orders.

Needless to say, Harry had been pissed. This feeling was shared by the goblins, who saw this as an attack against one of their richest clients. Harry explained the conspiracy against him and secured their help in subverting it.

They knew that the ruse of ignorance was necessary to survive the insidious plan others had for him. They were a warrior race that preferred open combat due to reasons of honor, but that didn't mean those same principles were upheld for non-goblins.

They were able to allow Harry the ability to turn the charms on and off at his leisure. When he visited Dumbledore, the old man would check and see them still working. Outside of his office, Harry could deactivate the charms with no one the wiser. Also, he had the glasses enchanted to be Anti-Summoning and Obliviation-proof. He would never be caught off guard and have his memories erased ever again.

He Apparated back to the chamber and learned how to create a portkey from Salazar before sending one to Fistslam the next day. Within a couple of hours, a whole team of Goblin Beast Hunters portkeyed into the chamber. They were greeted by the sight of a humongous dead basilisk decorating the center of the chamber. Taking a few moments to marvel at the size of the beast, they got to work.

After 4 hours of effort, the entire corpse had been rendered down to all of its different parts. The previously shed skin was also collected and properly cut. Not a single scrap was wasted, which left Harry was extremely appreciative of their efficiency.

He commissioned several sets of leather armor in different sizes, as he knew he would have to outfit a small resistance group, mainly the members of the Order along with Neville and Luna, possibly his only actual friends at Hogwarts. Along with the armor, he kept a tenth of the poison, along with the tooth that had been stabbed into his shoulder out of sentimental value.

After they were finished, he had asked Salazar about the Slytherin Lord Ring. Salazar's portrait had swiveled outwards on a hidden hinge, presenting a small space behind. Inside, were a few tomes along with Salazar's wand and the most important, a silver ring that had a basilisk motif with emeralds for eyes.

Slipping the ring on, he felt the same feeling as he did when he had been tested by the Black Lord ring. Within seconds, the ring had resized to fit his finger, and he had officially become the Lord Slytherin. Salazar mentioned that his wealth had all been stored at his cottage. Harry decided to leave it alone unless necessary, seeing as he had plenty of gold to spare.

True to the plan, Dumbledore called him up to give him special information about Voldemort. He pretended like he was preparing Harry for the war by constantly emphasizing how crucial it was for Harry to learn and understand Voldemort's past.

He even went as far as to give him a "mission" to coax some information out of Horace Slughorn, the new Potions Professor they had convinced to come out of retirement over the summer. Said information was "critical in the fight against Voldemort".

With the context of the memories he had experienced, Harry knew exactly what Dumbledore was after. He didn't know how many Horcruxes Voldemort had made. He had correctly guessed that Harry counted as one, along with some other special items the memories hinted at. Harry knew them all, as he had viewed them through Voldemort's memories.

Later that week, he had been called once more into Dumbledore's office for their lessons on Voldemort. It had been an entirely pointless exercise where they viewed memory after memory in a Pensieve. Harry had been bored out of his mind and wanted to learn some magic, but Dumbledore had told him that the focus of their lessons would be learning about Voldemort's past. Harry had been on his guard every moment he spent in the presence of Dumbledore and never slipped up even once.

He had been tasked with acquiring a specific memory from Slughorn. He had accomplished this task rather easily as he worked his charm by excelling in Potions using modified recipes he had found in an old potions textbook. With a sip of Felix Felicis, aka liquid luck, he had completed his task and retrieved the memory from Slughorn.

It had been a big revelation for Dumbledore as he finally got the information he had been after. Along with Harry's visions, they deduced that Voldemort's familiar Nagini was a Horcrux as well. Harry, on the other hand, was bored and disappointed by the pointlessness of it all.

He already knew the locations of the Horcruxes Voldemort himself hid. He had taken the initiative to destroy Ravenclaw's Diadem after learning it had been hidden in the Room of Requirements. A quick splash of basilisk venom and the soul fragment had been destroyed without a fuss.

Throughout the course of their meetings, Harry noticed the blackening of Dumbledore's hand and how the man seemed to get progressively weaker as the days passed. With the memories of the various protections in his head, he had ascertained that Dumbledore had gone after the Gaunt ring and fallen prey to the Withering Curse that was placed on it. With how much power Voldemort had put into the curse, Dumbledore's days were numbered.

It was probably why he had started entrusting Harry with more responsibilities and getting him prepped to go on a scavenger hunt for the Horcruxes. He stressed that he couldn't do it alone, indicating he take his traitorous friends with him. No doubt to ensure that his master plan was carried out to the letter, even after his passing.

In a bid to secure Slytherin's locket, Dumbledore had taken him along to the cliffside cave next to Wool's Orphanage, Voldemort's residence for the first 17 years of his life. They had passed through the protections to get to the stone basin that protected the Horcrux.

Inside was a truly vicious potion called Dementor's Draught. It was an insidious poison that mimicked the effects of the Dementors. When drunk, it would cause the drinker to suffer agonizing pain while showing them their worst nightmares.

Dumbledore convinced him to go along with his plan and force the potion down his throat. Harry tried to act hesitant while cheering on the inside. He had gained a bit of a sadistic streak after assimilating Voldemort's memories. It also helped that the old man had ruined his life and was willing to suffer the pain.

Going ahead with the plan, he dutifully forced Dumbledore to imbibe the poison and retrieved the locket from the basin. He immediately knew something was wrong when he didn't feel the same evil magic he felt when he was touching the diadem.

To relieve the man of his suffering, he filled a cup with water from the lake, which triggered the Inferi underneath to start attacking them. A quick spell that created a tornado of fire around their position swiftly dispatched all of them.

Getting out of the cave, they Disapparated to Hogsmeade, where they saw the Dark Mark floating in the sky above the Astronomy Tower. Borrowing brooms from Rosmerta, they flew to the Astronomy tower and what happened next had profound consequences for the Light side.

Harry did not expect the Body-Bind Curse and Stickfast Hex that hit him in the back. Dumbledore apologized and draped Harry's invisibility cloak over him. Harry watched as Draco Malfoy burst in and disarmed Dumbledore.

In what Harry could only construe as an act of senile dementia, Dumbledore tried to convince the ferret, who openly admitted being a Death Eater, to join the Light so he could "be saved". Hearing the soft voice of Dumbledore trying to push his "everyone can be redeemed" Hippogriff shit made Harry almost break the Body Bind just so he could gag.

The Dark Mark wasn't some fancy tattoo that Voldemort handed out. It was a brand that was gained through a ritual that involved the rape, torture, and murder of an innocent. You could not be coerced into taking the Dark Mark as the final part of the ritual involved a pledge of loyalty, where the individual had to be willing.

In the early days, the Death Eaters would kidnap Muggleborns to conduct the initiation, but Draco had probably used a Muggle. The fact that he had that mark and blatantly rubbed it in Dumbledore's face proved that the ferret was no longer an innocent in the fight, and had chosen his side.

Malfoy started the traditional evil villain monologue where he explained how he had snuck the Death Eaters into the castle by fixing the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement. He had also tried multiple times to assassinate Dumbledore but seemingly couldn't get to him.

As he was bragging about getting one over the "great Albus Dumbledore", he was soon joined by multiple senior Death Eaters who encouraged Draco to finish the job. It turned out that Malfoy was still as pathetic as ever, as he was unable to kill an unarmed, defenseless old man.

Harry had felt a small amount of pity towards how incompetent Draco was. For all his masterful planning and execution, he just didn't have the guts to "pull the trigger", as the Muggles would say. As he was struggling, the greasy dungeon bat himself had come to the front of the group. Dumbledore had turned towards him and pleaded, to which Snape replied with a Killing Curse to the face.

Dumbledore's body flew back and fell over the railing of the tower. Harry heard the low whistling as his body feels through the air and landed with a muted thump down below. After a few seconds, the spells on Harry were weakened enough for him to dispel, so he sprung into action.

The Death Eaters were retreating and causing chaos to cover their escape, attacking anyone unfortunate enough to be in their way. Harry had run after them using his cloak to maneuver into the best position to attack them. They had hit a straight corridor that led to the exit near the greenhouses when Harry struck.

He conjured metal javelins and sent them hurtling towards the retreating Death Eaters. Rowle and Gibbon hadn't been paying attention and paid the price with their lives as the spikes pierced through their bodies. Carrow had been critically wounded along with Malfoy taking a spike to the leg, as he fell in pain. He raised his wand to shield, but Harry had been quicker and disarmed him.

Snape had turned around and sent multiple Dark Curses towards Harry's general direction. Harry had swerved out of the way and retaliated with even more lethal Dark Curses, one of which was Sectumsempra, a Dark Cutting Curse he found in the potions book.

Severus had recognized the curse and deflected it, announcing his title as the Half-Blood Prince, the creator of the curse. With a quick Exploding Charm, he had used the debris and smoke as cover to rush Draco out of the wards and Disapparated.

Harry had been disappointed that he had managed to kill neither Snape nor Malfoy. At least that way he could have avenged the murderer of Dumbledore. He had disliked the man a lot, as Albus Dumbledore had knowingly dropped him into an abusive home and manipulated his life, but the people would want him avenged.

Had he not met Salazar, Harry had no doubt he would've regarded the man's words as gospel and willingly chosen to sacrifice his life for the "Greater Good", to end Voldemort once and for all. Now, he did not doubt that everyone would turn to him to lead them in the fight. The Ministry was still as corrupt and incompetent as ever, so the people would logically choose him as their figurehead with Dumbledore gone.

He found Dumbledore's corpse and cleaned it up a bit, to give him some dignity. Even if he hated the man's guts, it would be bad optics to be seen desecrating his corpse. To everyone in Hogwarts, with how frequently they met, they all assumed that Harry was his apprentice.

That couldn't have been further from the truth, but he wasn't about to correct their mistake. Even when dead, Dumbledore held influence as he had spent nearly half of his life networking and worming his way into the hearts of the British Wizarding public. Harry could potentially use some of that influence to his advantage in preparation for the upcoming conflict with Voldemort.

He removed the locket Horcrux that they had retrieved only to find out that it was a fake, switched out by someone with the initials R.A.B. Harry got flashes but didn't know what to make of them. They showed a handsome young man and a house-elf at the cave they had gone to.

Someone had stolen the locket, which meant that should old Voldy check, he'd realize that it was missing and attempt to recollect the others. This meant that Harry had a limited amount of time to hunt down the real locket Horcrux and the remaining two.

He pretended to be heartbroken and left the gathering crowd near Dumbledore's body. Retreating to the chamber, he grabbed a black hooded cloak and Apparated to Diagon Alley. With Dumbledore's death, the following instability would cause mass panic. He decided to get in early while people hadn't heard of his murder to get the equipment he would need for a long term scavenger hunt in the woods.

A fully loaded Wizarding tent equipped with the latest security enchantments. He also bought a trunk to keep his spare potions, library, and money. It was locked with a Blood Seal that ensured only he and those with his express permission could open the trunk.

He carried the trunk on a necklace charmed to be invisible and only removable by him. He started learning more wards that could help secure his base of operations. Anti-Apparition, Signature-based Portkey, Repelling, Confundus, and any that dealt with intent were the ones he studied extensively.

He Apparated back to the Chamber and started reading up on Healing spells, glamour charms, and anything that could potentially save his life and allow some anonymity. The Death Eaters would be playing for keeps, and their spell selection would reflect that, so Harry also started drilling in counter-curses, to cover a large range of Dark spells.

He had gone and retrieved Dumbledore's wand from the Astronomy Tower, only to have it shoot golden sparks from the tip as he picked it up. He felt a connection to the wand. One much deeper than he felt to his holly and phoenix feather wand. His magic sang to him in a way he hadn't experienced before as he held the wand.

While in euphoria he found himself entranced by the knowledge being poured into his mind. Ancient and powerful spells that he hadn't even seen in Salazar's library. Most of them were Dark spells, but the later ones were mainly Charms, Transfiguration, and Alchemy based spells.

The Elder Wand.

He didn't know how the name came to him, but it had just materialized in his thoughts. He wasn't sure what it meant, but decided to go to the one person he knew would be the most knowledgeable, Ollivander. Despite being a bit... eccentric, when it came to wandlore, Garrick Ollivander knew what he was talking about.

Consulting with Ollivander had been ominous, and enlightening at the same time.

"_Mr. Potter. The legends say that the Elder Wand, one of the Deathly Hallows, is the most powerful in the world. Most wandmakers, however, believe its a load of tosh. A wand is simply a focus, Mr. Potter. It cannot grant its master invincibility, but I've always had a theory regarding how it achieved such legendary status._

_I believe that this wand purposely corrupts the wielder, and steals their knowledge. It would explain how those who used it could perform feats of magic thought long lost to time. It has gone through many masters, accumulating spells and knowledge along the way, compelling others to seek it out._

_Many thought it was the wand that gave its master power, but my theory seems correct going with what you claimed to experience. As a Potter, you are a descendant of the third Peverell brother, Ignotus. The last descendant of the Peverell family. Hence, the family wand has acknowledged you as its true master by blood and magic._

_I am sure that even if you are disarmed, it will never betray you and change loyalties. The bond I see forming between you and the Elder Wand is a powerful one, Mr. Potter. If I'm correct, should you die, the wand will die with you, making it no better than a fancy wooden stick._

_Regarding the other Hallows, your father James would often prank others with an invisibility cloak he claimed to be a Potter family heirloom. Didn't you ever wonder how a simple invisibility cloak could last generations?"_

While there, he had decided to get a custom wand made for him, as being disarmed in a battle was a possibility. Having a spare wand that fit him perfectly would give him a trump card he could use to surprise and overwhelm his opponents.

Ollivander had been ecstatic to create a custom wand, as he hadn't made one in years. Harry presented him with the basilisk tooth, a couple of heartstrings, and 3 vials of venom. Getting over his initial surprise at the rarity of the ingredients, he took Harry to the back to check for other possible core ingredients.

It turned out that Harry was compatible with the heartstring of the Hungarian Horntail he had fought during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. He also provided some of his blood to stabilize the ingredients, as Ollivander stated that they were powerful and finicky.

With his materials chosen and Ollivander excited to experiment, he left the store with the promise of receiving the wand after Dumbledore's funeral. Apparating back to the Chamber, he continued his preparation to fight the Death Eaters while he waited for the day of the funeral to arrive.

He had written a small but "heartfelt" eulogy that spoke of his admiration of Dumbledore and how he looked up to the man like he would a grandfather. He managed to swallow his contempt for the man and deliver it properly when the day arrived. He had choked a couple of times as he cursed himself for writing such emotional crap that he couldn't even say it without choking on the smell of bullshit.

The audience, however, had lapped it all up. Here was the saintly Boy-Who-Lived, the Golden Gryffindor, getting emotional over his mentor/surrogate grandfather's death. He had used a spell provided by the Elder Wand to transfigure a random stick into a replica of the Elder Wand and placed it inside Dumbledore's grave. It would look and feel authentic, but it would just be a stick.

There was no way Voldemort would miss an opportunity to become the master of the Elder Wand. He wished he could be there to see Voldemort's face when he realized it wouldn't work for him. Hopefully, he would kill a couple of followers trying to become the new master. As far as Harry was concerned, the only good Death Eater was a dead one.

Nobody was able to see through the facade of sadness that Harry had on, save for one person. Luna Lovegood. The lovable scamp had approached Harry and mentioned that the Blibbering Humdingers told her he felt the exact opposite of what he said. Merlin, how he loved her quirkiness. She had always had the uncanny gift of knowing things she shouldn't, and boy it had thrown Harry for a loop on multiple occasions.

Ollivander had arrived and handed over Harry's new wand after the funeral.

"_This is your new partner, Mr. Potter. 13 and 1/7 inches. A completely liquid core made of basilisk and dragon heartstrings melted down in basilisk venom stabilized using your blood, encased in thousand-year-old basilisk ivory. Unyielding and powerful, excellent for Transfiguration, Charms, and the Dark Arts. I daresay this is one of the most potent wands I have ever crafted._

_I took the liberty to etch some secret Ollivander family runic Glyphs inside the casing that aids and amplifies the flow of magic. It is the only wand not wielded by a member of my family that will have these Glyphs, and I would appreciate it if you kept them a secret."_

Harry gave him an Oath of Secrecy to not speak about the runic Glyphs in his wand and went to board the Hogwarts Express for the last time.

The following summer had been better than every previous one. He had warned the Dursleys about Voldemort, and like the cowards they were, they ran as far away as possible. He was left alone in the house for a week before the Order decided to move him to Grimmauld Place.

When he was looking for his room, he coincidentally found out who R.A.B. was. Regulus Arcturus Black. Sirius' younger brother. In his capacity as Lord Black, he had demanded Kreacher to tell him the location of the locket, only to find out that Mundungus Fletcher had stolen it after Sirius' demise at the Department of Mysteries.

While there, he spent most of his time in the library studying the various tomes or practicing his spells and wardbreaking in the dueling room. While in the library, he met the portrait of Arcturus Black III, his maternal granduncle. He was informed by Arcturus about the Potter family's history, particularly the exploits of his grandfather Charlus Potter.

Arcturus told him about the Peverell vault and how it contained the family grimoire, said to hold some of the most potent enhancement rituals written by Morgana Le Fay herself. He spent almost two and a half months talking and planning with Arcturus about the war and the Horcrux Hunt. He turned out to be a wellspring of information about small-unit tactics and useful battle magics and spell chains.

As he was leaving Grimmauld Place to attend a wedding at The Burrow, Arcturus gave him some last-minute advice. Those words became the ideal he would live by for the next five years of his life.

"_When you fight in this war, keep in mind the famous words of the Muggle American General George Patton. 'May God have mercy for my enemies because I won't.' Your enemies are animals who have no qualms against torturing and murdering the innocent, Harrison. Treat them accordingly, and show no quarter." _Nodding stoically, Harry had left Grimmauld Place, unknowingly for the last time.

He had gone to the Burrow and met with the traitors, who were all trying their best to play their respective roles. Ginny made several passes at him, Hermione nagged and hugged him more often, and Ron was quiet and understanding for once. If he hadn't witnessed their treachery firsthand, he would have thought they were the best friends in the world.

While he was there, he had met with Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons Triwizard Champion. The quarter Veela had moved to England and taken up a job at Gringotts to become a Cursebreaker. She had met Bill Weasely on the job and they started dating. A few months later, they were getting married.

He had noticed how odd she had been acting and had taken drastic measures. Walking into her room, he had cast Silencing Charm on the door and a Body-Bind on her. He forced a Flushing Potion down her throat, and the effects were immediate. Rushing to the bathroom, she had puked up the various potions she was dosed with for the next couple of hours and came back a different person.

While she was indisposed, Rufus Scrimgeour had come calling to distribute the items listed in Dumbledore's will. Harry received the Snitch he had caught in his first game at Hogwarts. He knew the Gaunt Ring was within it and took less than 10 minutes to get it open. The password had been rather pedestrian. He had felt a little insulted at how easily the riddle was solved.

He had recognized the stone set into the ring as the final Deathly Hallow, the Resurrection Stone. To test whether the legend had any validity, he turned the stone over three times in his hand and waited. He had been greeted by an illusion where he saw his parents and Sirius encouraging him to walk to his death. He almost blew a gasket and leveled The Burrow, but managed to restrain his anger behind his Occlumency barriers.

The wedding was starting in a few hours and Fleur managed to recover from the effects of the Flushing Potion. She sent out a letter to stop her parents from coming. They planned to run away while the wedding was starting and she would go back to France.

That hadn't worked out well, as Kingsley had sent a Patronus informing them that the Ministry had fallen while Fleur was packing her things. This left Fleur unable to leave the country as it had been locked down and all forms of international travel had been restricted. They escaped to Gringotts when the Death Eaters attacked the wedding tent, and Harry went to retrieve the Peverell grimoire.

He went through 3 trials and passed each one with significant effort. After this, he met Morgana Le Fay herself. She informed him of her connection to the Peverell family and officially declared him as the new Lord Peverell, thereby also making him Prince Le Fay.

Ragnok had been overjoyed at the return of the Le Fay family and extended the helping hand of the Goblin Nation against Voldemort. Harry took him up on his offer and got to train under a Goblin Weapon Master, Forger, and Cursebreaker. The reasoning being that he would need to fight, be able to maintain or fix his weapons, and also break into secure locations.

Instead of using the goblins to get her out of the country, Fleur decided to stay and fight. She had multiple reasons for choosing to help Harry. He had saved her sister's life during the Triwizard Tournament. He had also protected her purity by freeing her from the influence of multiple potions. That was something that Veela held sacred, and Fleur chose to honor her debts by fighting alongside him.

After months of training and gradually breaking all the blocks Harry had on his magic, he had never felt better. Morgana had trained him in Ancient Runes, and he had gotten the goblin's help in acquiring the ingredients for the various enhancement rituals he completed. The goblins had also managed to locate and destroy one of the Horcruxes, Hufflepuff's Cup, during an audit of known Death Eater vaults.

In the meantime, the goblins had been informed of the Horcruxes and had set out to find any news on Mundungus Fletcher and the locket. After a month of searching, they found out about Dung's arrest by the Aurors. So Fleur and Harry's first mission was to infiltrate the Ministry and secure the locket. Despite a few hiccups, they managed to complete the mission and return in one piece.

After a successful mission at the Ministry to retrieve the Slytherin's locket, Harry and Fleur left Gringotts to go hunt for the remaining Horcruxes. During the day, they would review Harry's notes and practice to keep their skills sharp. During the nights, Harry would train with Morgana in controlling his newfound power and learning about Ancient Runes that he could use to enchant objects that can help him in a fight.

While camping out in the woods, they made sure to keep up to date on what was happening at the Ministry and the British magical public at large. It had come as no surprise that the Daily Prophet had keeled over and become the mouthpiece of Voldemort's new regime. Who said anything about magical journalists being having any more integrity than Muggle ones?

On one issue, Harry found a picture of himself most of the front page with the large words "Undesirable No. 1" printed in big, bold letters above. A note at the bottom claimed a 10,000G bounty for his head. Honestly, he felt a little insulted. With his Lordships, 10,000G was a drop in the ocean. Surely Voldemort himself thought he was worth more than that?

Then again, he wasn't surprised seeing as the new Minister for Magic, Lucius Malfoy, was always known to be a cheapskate of the highest order. When he wasn't spending hours preening, he was complicit in the genocide of British Muggleborns.

It took a couple of months, but with the help of the goblins, Fleur and Harry were able to break into the camps and free the Muggleborns who were imprisoned there. A few of them joined up to fight against the Death Eaters, but many others chose to flee England.

It was disappointing to see, but Harry hadn't stopped them. For those that stayed, Harry approached the only other British magical resistance group in existence, the Order of the Phoenix, for an alliance.

Along with the original Order members, some of whom were Aurors, they were able to quickly develop the combat skills of their friends to become capable fighters. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody had been one of the most effective instructors Harry had ever had the pleasure of learning from. The man had ingrained a sense of constant situational awareness and paranoia into him that had saved his life on numerous occasions.

The war against the Death Eaters had been a ruthless one. It took a little while for the Order to finally get over the no killing limitation that Dumbledore had brainwashed them into adopting. It was only after the horrible demise of Dedalus Diggle that they collectively decided that enough was enough.

While the Death Eaters had been initially surprised by the Order's new rules of engagement and willingness to kill, it didn't last very long. They had been killing others for a long time, so with their enemies finally starting to fight back, it only made them fight harder. The momentum was on their side, and morale was high. The Order seemed to be in a desperate position.

Despite their best efforts, within two years, the Order had been whittled down to only 3 members. Remus had chosen to take Fenrir Greyback with him in a final act of desperation and revenge, and that had affected Harry badly. With Remus gone, he had lost the final connection he had to his parents.

Hogwarts, the school that had been his home away from the Dursleys, had turned into a battleground on more than one occasion. The Death Eaters had tried to keep the school running and used the children as leverage to keep the professors and the noble families in line. They replaced DADA with a Dark Arts class where Slytherin students would demonstrate their learning on their classmates. Propaganda against those of impure blood was forced down the student's throats daily.

The Hogwarts wards were ancient magic, but Harry was able to infiltrate the castle through the lesser-known passageways that the Marauder's Map showed him. It helped that the castle's magic did not recognize the new headmaster, Severus Snape. The ensuing battle to wrest back control of Hogwarts left 2 professors and 3 students killed, along with several others injured. Ultimately, the Death Eaters were rebuffed and kicked out, but the price had been too high.

After the battle, word had gotten out to the general public, and parents had arrived in droves to withdraw their children from the school and escape the country. Some of the older Muggleborn and more independent Pureblood students decided to join up with Harry's group and fight against Voldemort.

Two days later, the castle had been stormed by Death Eater forces led by Voldemort himself. They took back control of the castle, but Harry and his allies made sure to leave nothing for them when they returned. The library had been transferred to a secret location, the professors had all packed up and left, the Headmaster's office had been cleaned out, and even the Room of Requirement hadn't been spared. Unfortunately, Harry hadn't been able to find the Potter Lord ring that Dumbledore had hidden, so he had given up on it.

To say that Voldemort had been angry at the loss was an understatement. He and his men went on the warpath, slaughtering everyone who was even suspected of working for the resistance. With all the children gone, he could no longer coerce the Lords to work with him. Several had already escaped England, so his plans to use their resources had been ruined.

Nevertheless, he had forged on and steadily worked to unite the entire Ministry and the public with him. Instead of relying on the Lords to contribute their wealth, he targeted the source, Gringotts.

Goblins were inherently greedy creatures, and betrayal tended to quite common among those of the Nation. Save for blood relationships and those where personal and clan honor was concerned, most goblins were quite pragmatic when it came to their loyalties.

Voldemort spent a long time searching for the right goblin and found Griphook, a lowly Vault Runner who had been passed over for promotion multiple times. With a little bit of persuasion mixed with the typical charisma and promises of power, Voldemort was able to convince Griphook to rebel and overthrow the Goblin King and the High Council.

It had taken nearly a year of preparation, but when they struck, nobody had been ready for the fallout. Ragnok had perished, managing to protect the first 10 Vaults by collapsing the passageway and closing the entrance with clan specific blood wards. The High Council members were killed outright and the Nation had descended into chaos at having the entirety of their leadership killed.

With the help of Voldemort's forces, Griphook was able to secure his position as the new Goblin King. Of course, in return, the Death Eaters were able to access the nearly 592 inactive vaults and raid them for their gold and family heirlooms and artifacts.

Once he had finished benefiting from the alliance, Voldemort betrayed Griphook and unleashed a plague upon the Nation. Gringotts was forced to close it's doors permanently as they isolated themselves and struggled to survive.

The Resistance never heard from the goblins ever again. It had hurt them badly because of how critical the goblin's infrastructure was for the war effort. However, they couldn't spend time worrying about it, because Voldemort gave them many other things to worry about. His conquest of Britain continued, fueled by the nearly unlimited amount of gold he had secured through his alliance with Gringotts.

The entire world had gone to hell in a hand-basket after that. Within four years of his resurrection, Voldemort had established total rule over Magical Britain.

That had been his goal for the longest time, and succeeding should have stopped the endless suffering and death. Things were usually never that simple.

'Of course, taking over the entire British Magical community wasn't enough. The Dark Wanker couldn't leave well enough alone.'

In a bid to expand his empire, he attacked the most prominent Muggle target in all of Britain, the Palace of Westminster. The meeting place of the British Parliament. The lunatic had waltzed in, exposed the magical world, and declared himself the new King of England.

Naturally, the members of Parliament had not taken his words seriously and called security. He then proceeded to magically slaughter every person in the chamber in front of rolling news cameras broadcasting the massacre nationwide.

After his publicity stunt, the entire Muggle world lost their collective minds. Many were fearful of the existence of entire communities of people that manipulated reality at their whim. Governments all around the world had trouble calming down their citizens as they desperately tried to communicate with their magical counterparts.

The Order had been located by MI6, who sent agents to deliver a summons from the Queen. Harry had gone and informed her of the war they had been fighting against Voldemort for the last four years.

The Queen had offered him the support of the British government and all of its resources to stop Voldemort for good. His group of guerrilla fighters had coordinated with the SAS to train in asymmetrical warfare and tactics. They had gone from a ragtag militia to an effective magical fighting force.

Sadly, the Muggles were limited to providing logistical and operational support. They had seen the devastation of Voldemort's attack on Parliament and had attempted to come up with methods to fight back against magicals. Ultimately, nothing was able to come out of their research for one main reason. They were fighting against people who wielded a force that made the impossible possible.

This was one of the main lessons that Morgana had drilled into Harry's mind. Modern wizards were raised learning the rules of magic. This was an inherently flawed system, as any person who truly understood the fundamental nature of magic knew that all it took was imagination and the power to exert your will upon the world. When it came to true magic, there were no rules.

All the Muggleborn who had thought that the bigoted Purebloods would not be able to survive bullets or bombs were given a rude awakening. Runes that absorbed kinetic energy made bullets completely useless and the Death Eater's manors and other strongholds easily withstood the various bombs the Muggle government threw at them. The structures were typically on or near Ley lines that soaked the building in magical energy, strengthening the composition of the materials and making them damn near impervious to non-magical forces.

Another reason behind their nigh invulnerability was the power of the wards that had been active for centuries. Many tended to forget that while the bigotry against blood status was a harmful ideology, Purebloods did have something to be proud of.

Their status and knowledge stemmed from the blood, sweat, and tears of their ancestors. Centuries of discoveries and restless exploration into the seemingly endless possibilities of magic gave them a leg up from those who came into their community for the first time.

Pureblood wizards had paid close attention to the progression of Muggle society and had worked tirelessly to counter them. The "Bullet-Stopping" Enchantment had been invented by Purebloods during the American Revolution and was improved from then on. It was the reason why no Pureblood wizards were harmed by Muggle weapons in any of the wars that occurred afterward.

Runic shields against explosives, biological agents, radiation, and many other Muggle weapons of war were developed by and shared amongst the Pureblood families to help keep each other alive. It was much akin to an elite club that gave their members access to special benefits that weren't shared with the general public.

Hence, when an entire SAS squadron had attempted to storm Malfoy Manor, they found themselves horrifyingly outmatched. Not a single soldier survived the encounter, making it the worst failure in SAS history. Since then, the Muggles realized that only magicals stood somewhat of a chance against the enemy, so they focused on training them as best they could.

With the help of the SAS and MI6, the Resistance managed to successfully push the Death Eaters back. After 3 years of fighting, they were on the verge of winning when Voldemort did the unthinkable. The madman had summoned demons in a last-ditch attempt to fight back. This had marked the beginning of the end for the rest of the world, even though they hadn't known it at the time.

Fleur had been killed when they went after Voldemort's last Horcrux, Nagini. He had somehow found out about their search and destroy mission and kept Nagini by his side at all times. When his forces started losing, he secreted her away into what could only be described as a fortress. They had infiltrated with a squad of 7 magicals and met significant resistance inside the building.

Harry had been reluctant to go inside. He had thought that bombarding it from the outside would have been a better option. Sadly, they needed visual confirmation of Nagini's death. If they simply destroyed the fortress from the outside, the chance of Nagini escaping in the chaos increased, and they couldn't let that happen. Destroying the Horcrux was more important than anything, as it would finally make Voldemort completely mortal once again.

After half an hour of cutting through Death Eaters and dismantling numerous wards and traps, they had managed to capture and kill the snake, only to be met with an ambush as they retreated. Voldemort had felt when they destroyed his final Horcrux and had arrived with an overwhelming number of Death Eaters.

Their team had been killed off one by one until he and Fleur were the only ones left. In an act of loving sacrifice, Fleur had banished him out of the fortress and brought the entire place down by casting Fiendfyre. HIs heard ached whenever he thought of her.

They had grown close after years of fighting together. She had started as an older sister figure, and somewhere along the way, she had become so much more than that. Harry had wanted to marry her when the war was over. He had gone so far as to secure a stunning diamond ring he had found in an abandoned jewelry store for when the time came.

Being her partner and lover had been one of the greatest experiences of his life. He remembered when they first started dating, how he became a love-struck fool whenever she was next to him. He had loved everything about her. Her smile, her laugh, the way she would hold him when things got tough. She had become irreplaceable. When she died, a part of him died with her.

Tonks, one of the only surviving members of the Order had filled in the gap she had left in his heart. Their love had been a whirlwind romance. Mere months after losing Fleur, Harry had started recovering for the first time. He was becoming happy and started regaining hope, only to lose it all once again.

Tonks had been one of the best spies that MI6 had ever trained. Her natural talent as a Metamorphmagus had allowed her to get into Death Eater meetings undetected and glean critical information. The resistance had gotten wind that Voldemort had been planning something big, so Tonks was sent in to get intelligence about it.

The mission had been going well and Tonks had managed to learn what it was they were planning. She was about to leave when all the Death Eaters were asked to drink a potion. She had drunk multiple antidotes before attending the meeting, so she had complied to not draw suspicion. The potion turned out to not be a poison. It did, however, affect her Metamorphmagus powers.

She had shifted back to normal in a room full of Death Eaters and instantly knew that she was going to die. In a final act of bravery and duty, she bought herself enough time to send a Patronus with all the relevant information on Voldemort's plan back to resistance headquarters.

Members of the resistance had found her body in the center of the main square in Diagon Alley the next morning. The higher-ups had received her final Patronus and knew that she wouldn't make it. They didn't tell Harry immediately, so he wouldn't recklessly go running off on a rescue mission.

Seeing her dead body showing signs of brutal torture and sexual assault had broken something within Harry. This was the second woman he had loved whose life had been extinguished by the Death Eaters. After her death, he had fully embraced the darkness within him.

The memories of the torturous years he suffered under the yoke of the Dursleys, the betrayal of his friends and Dumbledore, and the death of Fleur came flooding back to him. That night, he had gone to train with Morgana and begged her to teach him everything she knew.

She was the greatest Dark Lady to ever live. Her knowledge of the Dark Arts was considered unparalleled in history. Gazing upon his lover's desecrated corpse had stripped him of any hesitation and sense of morality when it came to the war. He would learn everything she could teach him and bring death and destruction to his enemies on a scale they never thought possible. He would make them suffer for all the pain they had caused.

Morgana had agreed and formally started their training in a Black Art, magic so Dark and ancient that most of the knowledge had been lost to time or purposely erased from history. Morgana had chosen the Peverell family specialty of Necromancy to be their main course of study. He found himself going deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole, but he also realized he never truly lost himself.

Despite the Dark magic he practiced, not once did his soul gain the typical stain that came with casting the spells. Morgana noticed it too and had taken it as a sign that Harry was meant to walk down this path. It was the only plausible explanation as to how the Dark Arts never affected him.

The higher-ups in Resistance Command had put together Tonks' final report into a briefing and invited nearly every active fighter in the resistance. Voldemort was going to summon demons to help bolster his army. The Death Eaters were losing too many fighters, and this was seen as the last resort.

Like most Dark Lords before him, Voldemort did not heed the numerous warnings regarding demonic summoning. More often than not, the wizards were unable to control their summons. This led to a whole host of problems that had potentially reality-destroying consequences. It was the precise reason why Demonology and any knowledge of Arcane Summoning were destroyed and outlawed from practice.

Harry had a glowing smile on his face as he reminisced on the day he fought demons for the first time. The crimson stains on his pearly whites made for an odd sight in the dimly lit square. Faced with those monstrosities, a person would have to be insane to think of them fondly. Yet that was exactly how Harry felt as he looked back on his career as a demon slayer.

They had given him a thrill that normal human targets simply didn't. He had likened it to big game hunting. The knowledge that your quarry could end your life violently if you made a mistake, got the adrenaline pumping as nothing else could.

That and a healthy hero complex, along with a blatant disregard for personal safety, had made him the best demon slayer in the world. Whenever there was a major problem, his squad was often tasked with getting the job done. Despite his relatively young age, many saw him as a beacon of hope for humanity during dark times. He always felt that his childhood had helped forge him into the warrior and leader he eventually became.

It also helped that he had been trained by some of the most skilled and knowledgeable wizards in the world. After the fateful summoning, the ICW collaborated with the Muggle governments that were still functioning to form the International Demon Slayer Coalition (IDSC). It was a joint effort between magicals and Muggles to combat the demonic threat and protect the human race from extinction.

The demons had ravaged most of the world within a year and the death toll had progressed into the billions. What made their mission harder was the fact that there seemed to be no end to them. Since the first day Voldemort had foolishly summoned them, they somehow kept the portal open in perpetuity.

The more humans they killed, the longer the portal stayed open, which meant more demons could come through. At that point, it was no longer considered a portal, but a tear in reality. The energy from their dimension had started affecting the area around the gateway.

The world experienced the closest thing to an apocalypse as they could imagine. Entire cities of people were culled indiscriminately. Demonic blood poisoned the water and food supplies, leading to several millions of people dying due to accidental consumption.

They fought back as best as they could, with the IDSC forcibly drafting magical criminals into the Slayer squadrons under threat of death. Harry's squad, nicknamed the Archangels, had two such men in it.

First, there was Julius Laurent, French dueling extraordinaire turned mass murderer. The second was Gellert Grindelwald, the most powerful Dark Lord in recent history, who had supposedly reformed while imprisoned in Nurmengard.

Both men were extremely skilled and vicious when fighting. They proved to be great additions to his team, as other than himself, the others lacked any advanced magical training. His squad consisted of himself, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Susan Bones, Daphne Greengrass, and the two convicts.

With their instruction, the entire squad had benefited and each member had become powerful in their own right. Neville had utilized his knowledge of Herbology to become a master of poisons. Susan had been taken in by Julius as an Apprentice, leading her to become one of the deadliest witches in the IDSC. Daphne's innate skill with Potions had allowed her to gain renown as a gifted combat medic. Luna had mastered her Mage Sight and studied Runes and Warding to become an exceptional Cursebreaker. However, if anyone were to ask who among them was the strongest, they would all immediately point to Harry.

His extensive studies in the Dark Arts along with all the rituals he underwent with Morgana's guidance, had made him one of the most powerful wizards in the world. The numerous blocks on his magic had forced his body to rapidly adapt to harsh conditions and improved his capacity to channel magic. That along with Fate's intervention had led to him becoming significantly stronger than most wizards could ever hope to be.

Along with his intensive training and skilled application of Necromancy in battle, he had earned the title of "The Black Lich". His enemies had given him this title after a harrowing rescue mission where he single-handedly fought off nearly 200 demons and 50 Death Eaters by progressively killing them and raising their corpses to fight for him. Sadly, this also meant that many people, including his allies outside his squad, became very intimidated by him.

The first time the IDSC had learned about it, they had loudly decried his actions. To them, the art of Necromancy was right up there with Demonology. They were designated Black Arts that were not to be used, no matter the circumstances. Harry had tired of the political haranguing and had subsequently revealed his status as Prince Le Fay. That had gotten the IDSC to shut up, and led to them falling over themselves to accommodate him.

Over the years of operating together, the whole squad became family to one another. They had all lost whatever family they had originally had, so they found a new sense of belonging. This familial relationship was one of the reasons they had become so successful among the ranks of slayer squadrons. Every member unconditionally trusted their teammates, so their teamwork was able to reach a level few other squads could hope to emulate.

Gellert became the grandfather that gave wise advice and shared his vast knowledge of magic to those who asked for it. Julius took the role of the cool uncle that taught them all he knew about dueling and destructive spell chains. The rest of them treated each other like brothers and sisters, except if he was honest, his relationship with the girls went beyond that of siblings.

He had all but given up on love after Tonks' death. He knew deep down that he couldn't handle ever seeing another woman he loved end up like her and Fleur. Luna, Susan, and Daphne had taken a lot of time to steadily chip away at the emotional walls he had erected around his heart. They managed to break through one night during the IDSC's 4th Anniversary Ball.

Upon Gellert's insistence that he not ignore the girls simply because he was afraid of what might happen, he had gone and asked them to dance. They had given him brilliant smiles that seemed to light up the room.

As they danced the night away, he felt a sensation of lightness within him. His happiness along with the joy in the atmosphere made him forget all about the demons and Voldemort. He wanted to do nothing but be with the girls.

They had gone to a suite together and the night had been a long one for Harry. The morning after had been awkward, to say the least. He wanted to tell them it was a mistake, but the satisfaction and comfort he had felt made him rethink his decision. It was just how things ended up, and they could do nothing but move on.

In the field, they had to be professional and not let their emotions affect their decision making. They had talked about it, and the girls all told him they had no problem sharing. It was something to do with the attractive nature of the magic of powerful wizards. It reached out to and connected with any compatible witch and allowed them to bond as a group. Feelings of jealousy were all but negated by the magical bond.

He had thought that all the talk about bonds was fictional romantic bullshit, but apparently, he had been wrong. When compatible witches and wizards were physically intimate, their magic quite literally bonded on a subconscious level. The more they engaged in intimacy, the more they connected as a group. While not as exaggerated as in the novels, magical bonding could not be denied by either party once accepted.

He didn't care about all the minutiae though. He finally felt content and loved for the third time in his life. It had been such a great feeling that he hadn't even been prepared for what happened next.

During a routine reconnaissance mission, everything had gone so wrong. Voldemort had initiated a ritual to summon a Daemon Lord. It was the most foolish and insane thing Harry had ever seen him attempt, and he had told him so to his face.

Voldemort refused to see reason, and it had devolved into an apocalyptic scenario where if the abomination was able to cross over to their reality, the human race was doomed to extinction.

For a long time, Harry had occasionally met with a lady in black who was connected to him through the Elder Wand. She had helped him by giving him knowledge of spells that allowed him to turn the tide of battle whenever he was in a pinch.

Gellert had also mentioned meeting her when he wielded the wand, so Harry had guessed she was the spirit of the wand that had gained sentience over the centuries. Weirder things had happened before, and Ollivander had mentioned once about wands holding limited sentience.

After soaking the wand in a decent amount of his blood, he was able to purposely enter the white realm he usually found himself in by chance.

Opening his eyes, Harry saw the same white room he had always been dragged to. He looked around for the lady in black but didn't find her. Hesitantly, he decided to call out.

"_Hello_?"

"_Welcome to the world in between_, _Harry Potter_."

Harry let out a startled yelp as he threw himself forward and attempted to draw his wand. She had snuck up behind him without even a whisper. Almost like she had been there the entire time. A sibilant giggle echoed around the room as he found that the wands he kept on his person were not there.

"_Relax_, _Harry Potter_. _No harm shall befall you in this realm_. _You are here to ask me for a favor_, _no_?"

Harry didn't know what to expect. Usually, he would only hear the lady whisper in his ear and transfer the knowledge he needed. This was the first time they were having an actual conversation.

"_I thought you were the spirit of the wand, but now I know you're more than that. Am I correct, Death_?"

She smiled at him.

"_You are correct_, _Harry Potter_. _I go by many names_, _but ultimately_, _I am simply known as Death_. _Now tell me_, _what is it that you seek_?"

Harry thought for a second. What was it he truly wanted? Was it a way to stop the ritual? Or Voldemort? He wasn't sure at the moment. He knew that interrupting the ritual was what took priority at the moment. However, Voldemort was the ultimate problem in this war. Once he fell, it would leave the horde without a purpose or any semblance of leadership. Then, it would be a simple matter of hunting them down and restoring and repopulating the Earth.

It made sense, but at the same time, his current problem was the ritual. Even if he had a chance to kill Voldemort, he needed to first stop the ritual. Hopefully, there would be a way to kill two birds with one stone. Clearing his throat, he started speaking.

"_I am here to ask if you know a way of stopping the ritual and killing Voldemort_."

The lady looked at him with a sly smile on her face.

"_Oh_? _The knowledge you seek is quite powerful_. _Are you sure you are capable of handling it_?"

Harry's face was set in grim determination.

"_Whatever it takes_. _I need to stop this summoning and kill Voldemort_. _It_'_s the only way we_'_ll_ _ever end the war_."

"_You are set on this course I see_. _I must inform you that what you are asking for will entail a powerful sacrifice from you_. _Magic on the level of fighting a Daemon Lord is beyond anything normal mortals can handle_.

_Fortunately for us_, you _are special_. _Your status as the wielder of my Hallows makes you uniquely qualified to deal with the consequences_. Tell me. _Are you willing to pay the requisite price_, _Harry Potter_?"

Her dark voice made Harry shiver. The magic he would learn would most likely cost him his life, but he would have it no other way. If his sacrifice saved the rest of humanity, he would not hesitate.

"_Yes_. _Be it my life_, _soul_, _or magic_. _I am willing to pay any price to save the billions of lives that depend on me_."

Her smile became much more gentle as her onyx orbs gazed deeply into him. He felt as though she could see through his soul, which he didn't doubt was possible for her.

"_You are sincere in your desire_, _Harry Potter_. _I will give you the knowledge you need_. _The rest will all depend on your luck and your willpower_. _If you fail, you will die a horrible death, and not even I could save you from the torment you will face_.

_Should you succeed_, _not only will you prevent the Daemon Lord from crossing over_, but _you could also potentially defeat Tom Riddle once and for all_. _It is a risky gamble_. _Are you willing to take the chance_?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry's eyes glowed with power.

"_Yes_. _No matter how small the chances_, _it is my duty to do whatever I can_."

"_So be it_."

She walked over to Harry and placed her hands on his temples.

"_This will hurt_, _Harry Potter_. _Bear the pain as the knowledge is transferred to you_."

Harry readied himself. The knowledge transfers had never hurt him before, but if she told him this would specifically hurt, he was in for a world of pain. Before he could even react, he felt a burning sensation consume him. It felt as if his entire body was being roasted over a pit of Fiendfyre. The worst part was he couldn't move and he couldn't even open his mouth to scream.

Death was holding him in place as her eyes glowed eerily as she spoke some words he didn't understand. Just as soon as the pain started, it was soon finished. The moment she removed her hands, he collapsed onto the floor. His muscles spasming in pure agony as he rode out the pain of the transfer. He felt the world go black and he knew no more.

Through the help of an invocation ritual, Harry met Mother Magic herself and received the knowledge of a divine spell. Holy or divine magic was not something that mortals could hope to access without a costly sacrifice. It was only through sheer luck that Harry's soul was able to stay whole after casting it.

The problem was, that he wasn't strong enough to power the spell alone. Seeing this, all of his squadmates along with the reinforcements that had come to their aid willingly gave up every last bit of their power to fuel the spell. He had successfully pushed the Daemon Lord back to its dimension, but all the other Slayers had died in the process. After an emotional conversation with a dying Gellert, who had somehow managed to hang on a little longer than the rest, he had fallen unconscious.

He didn't know how long he had been out for, but when he woke up, he was no longer on the battlefield. Once again, he found himself in a white room for the third time in one day. Maybe Magic wanted to talk to him. Maybe it was Death and she would tell him that he was officially dead. He honestly didn't mind at that point.

All of his loved ones were dead and there was nothing left for him. He didn't think he had shattered his soul from the ritual, but who knew when it came to such powerful magic. He looked around and waited for his host to arrive. He noticed that he was clothed in his battle robes, so most likely this was Death's realm, but the wear and tear were there, unlike the times she had summoned him into her realm.

"_Excellent observation_, _Harry Potter_. _You are indeed not in Death_'_s realm_."

Turning to face the person who spoke, he saw a different being.

"_To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to_?"

Harry was so emotionally drained that he couldn't give a damn.

"_I see you are tired_. _Do not fret. Your time in this realm had completely repaired your body and soul_. _You are once again capable of fighting against your adversary_."

Harry looked at her with a stoic expression on his face.

"_You haven_'_t answered my question_."

A lady in blue stood in front of him with a complicated expression adorning her beautiful face.

"_You have led a hard life_, _Harry Potter_. _You were dragged into a fight you did not start and have suffered the consequences of an old fool_'_s actions_. _Albus Dumbledore sought to tamper with magic he did not understand_, _and so_, _it was my duty to punish him for his transgressions_."

Harry had a look of pure loathing on his face as he stared at the woman in front of him.

"_You_'_re Fate_, _aren_'_t you_?"

Fate smiled sadly.

"_I understand your anger towards me_, _Harry Potter_. _Your life has been affected by me more than most_. _What started as a balancing of the scales turned into a devastating war that has killed off most of humanity._ _It was never my intention for things to spiral like this_. _You were originally meant to have killed Tom Riddle permanently when he attacked you_.

_The Slytherin family magic should have eradicated his very being_. _His soul was not supposed to have survived through you_. _Unfortunately_, _when you were made powerful enough to face him_, _you also unintentionally became the only container that could hold his splintered soul fragment_.

_In being able to hold his soul_, _his other anchors were able to survive that night_. _One little shift towards balance has ruined your reality_.

_However, your battle has not finished. Tom Riddle has realized his folly and is now attempting to escape your dimension. He wants to rule the world and he cannot do that as the Daemon Lord has poisoned the magic of your reality._"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise.

"_Wait a second_. _I pushed back the Daemon Lord_. _Voldemort can no longer summon it again_, _so what taint are you talking about_?"

Fate gently lifted her hand and a mirror materialized in front of Harry, showing the situation on the ground.

"_Daemon Lords are among the top of the demonic hierarchy and their very presence tends to affect reality negatively_. _You successfully pushed it back through the dimensional tear_, _but it was able to latch on to the ground for enough time to infect the magic of your world_.

_As we speak_, _the taint has started to spread through the Ley lines and it will affect every remaining magical in the world_. _They will suffer sickness and all of them will perish as their bodies are stripped of magic_.

_This is the end of magic as you know it_. _Tom Riddle has realized what he has done_ _and is now attempting a ritual to create a new dimensional tear so he can cross over to a different reality_. _He must not be allowed to succeed_. _So I will be dropping you near the entrance to Diagon Alley and you shall have to confront and stop him_."

Harry bristled at her tone. She seemed to be commanding him to fight Voldemort when her actions are what led to the entire world going to shit.

"_How can you stand there and tell me to go stop him_. _You've taken everything from me_. _I don't even have anything to live for at this point_. _What more do I have to do to appease you_?"

Fate looked at him in disappointment.

"_I apologize for the role I have played in your life, Harry Potter_. _I can only hope that you do this so that humanity can survive_. _Even without magic_, _the Muggles_, _as you call them_, _can still survive and rebuild_. _Please do not let them all die unnecessarily_."

He was mad. Scratch that. He was beyond mad at this point. He wanted nothing to do with Voldemort or Fate or whatever the fuck else was happening. At the same time, he could not ignore Fate's plea. All those people that were still alive were counting on him. They were innocents in this battle. They didn't deserve to die due to his selfishness.

"_Okay_. _I just have to stop him_, _right_? _After this_, _you will not stop me from going to the Great Beyond_?"

Fate's eyes glistened with unshed tears. Perhaps she could feel his hopelessness and his desire to finally meet his loved ones.

"_Of course_, _Harry_. _Once you stop Tom Riddle_, _I will not prevent you from doing anything else_. _Whether you want to die or live will be up to you alone_."

After hearing her answer, he nodded and gave his answer.

"_Let_'_s do this then_. _It's time I finish what he started_."

Fate gave a bright smile as she walked over to him. Stroking his cheek, she said

"_Go with my blessing_, _Harry James Potter_. _You are destined for far greater things than simply killing a Dark Lord_. _Hopefully_, _you will receive the love you crave in your next great adventure and build the life you so richly deserve_."

Before he could ask what she meant by that, a bright light blinded him. In a flash, he found himself standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron. With resolute steps, he walked inside, preparing for the final confrontation.

Like every other selfish megalomaniac before him, Voldemort saw the devastation his failed summoning and the demons had caused to the world and decided that the best course of action was to run away.

Having been warned that Voldemort was attempting a ritual to cross over to another reality, Harry had not held anything back as he raced towards the ritual site. Voldemort had nearly finished when Harry had arrived with his wand blazing.

They had faced off for the final time, neither willing to back down. They pulled out all the stops and were willing to sacrifice everything to triumph. It was a true no holds barred fight and one that they both struggled in.

Both of them proved to be skilled fighters and the fight had been a long and intense one. If he had to make a comparison, it would be like the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Both men trying to kill the other, both magical titans representing their ideologies.

Harry had won by the skin of his teeth. After a well-timed distraction, he was able to skewer Voldemort and keep him in place long enough for him to nail him center mass with the Killing Curse. There was no coming back from that, even for him.

Still riding the adrenaline high from the battle, Harry had taken the time to inspect the ritual Voldemort had conducted. The most noticeable thing that told him how Dark the ritual was, were the bodies on the periphery of the runic circle.

13 women had been sacrificed to satisfy the horrendous requirements of the ritual. Crimson rivulets of blood flowed through channels on the ground to every part of the circle. Even though he was quite skilled in Runes and Rituals, Harry had no idea how this one functioned.

From what little he could tell it created a tear in space that would allow Voldemort to escape to another reality. However, there was a part of the circle that was undecipherable. The runes were ancient, possibly Babylonian in origin.

Their magic historically had a lot to do with the soul, but Harry was unsure of how this particular ritual involved the caster's soul. Furthermore, he was unsure of the caster's sacrifice. Surely such a Dark ritual would require something from the caster as well?

He walked close to get a better look when he felt wetness across his chest. Looking down, he saw droplets of blood, dripping from the edge of his battle robes. Before he knew what was happening, all his strength left him as he fell backward as a feeling of lightheadedness overtook him.

He coughed violently as the coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth. Slowly turning his head to the side, he spat out the blood as he struggled to take his next breath. He could feel the blood slowly draining out of his body from the multiple Cutting and Piercing Curses he had taken. His breath hitched a little as he waited for the end. It was near, he could feel it.

'It doesn't matter anyway. I stopped him, but it's too late for this world. Maybe he had the right idea, jumping to another one. If only…'

A bright red glow from underneath him caught him off guard.

'Huh? What the bloody hell is going on?!'

The glow grew brighter and brighter as the runic circle started to rotate around him.

'The ritual is activating?! I stopped it! How in Merlin's name is it continuing?!'

'You've got to be fucking kidding me' was his last thought as a blood-red light took over his vision. After that, all that was left was darkness.

As the ritual circle powered down and the tear stitched itself shut, a glowing light appeared in front of Harry's body. The light grew and formed into Fate. She saw Harry's body and sighed. She hadn't wanted things to get this far out of control, but it was all over now.

She felt a ripple as a cloaked figure stepped out of the void.

"Dear sister. What are you doing here?" she heard the newcomer ask.

"Death. I am simply confirming the demise of Tom Riddle. The mortal was a slippery one."

Death pulled down the hood and gave a feral smile.

"Don't you worry about dear old Tom. His soul has reached my domain and I am going to enjoy punishing him for his numerous transgressions. Maybe some hellfire would make for a nice warm-up."

Fate nodded with a distracted look on her face. She walked over to Harry's body and waved her hand over it, vanishing his robes and shirt. She was greeted by the sight of numerous deep cuts and holes still leaking blood, along with large bruises dotting his body. What came as a surprise to her, was what she didn't see.

"Death, come here."

Death frowned as she walked over to Fate.

"What?"

Fate pointed at Harry's chest.

"Your mark. The Hallows are gone. Did they return to you?"

Death furrowed her brows and concentrated. Her eyes widened as she replied.

"No. I can't feel them in my realm or anywhere else. I can't feel them at all!"

That was a cause for concern. The Deathly Hallows were imbued with the essence of Death herself. They were quite literally a part of her very being. They couldn't just vanish into thin air. Fate wasn't worried though, they were powerful, but not much more than regular ancient artifacts.

"It's okay. His destiny always was to go elsewhere. The old fool's actions did nothing but delay the inevitable."

Death was worried as she retorted.

"No, Fate. It's not okay. Those Hallows did not just have my essence in them."

Fate narrowed her eyes at her proclamation.

"What do you mean?"

Death spoke with a cautious tone.

"For the Elder Wand, my essence alone wasn't enough to power it. The potency of my death energy overpowered the magical qualities of the ingredients, so I approached our dear sister to donate some of her essence to balance out mine."

Fate's eyes widened ever so slightly.

"Are you telling me you imbued the very essence of Magic into the wand?"

Death chuckled nervously.

"When the Peverell brothers created the Hallows, they used an invocation ritual to summon me to the mortal plane to bless their artifacts. I knew that the only way they could have successfully invoked my presence would be if you needed it to happen. So I did whatever was necessary to allow the Hallows to wield my power."

Fate knew this would have some serious repercussions. Items that were crafted with the essence of Magic were powerful beyond belief and were more than capable of going against the laws of the universe. She started inspecting the runic circle to see if it could give them a clue to the Hallow's location.

"This circle requires 13 unwilling sacrifices to open the gateway and the caster must also sacrifice his blood and body for his soul to cross over. Harry was coughing up a lot of blood and he died within the circle. Do you think he met the conditions to activate the ritual at the last minute?"

Death pondered for beat before carefully answering.

"If it did, then we're in trouble. From what I can tell you, this is the only reality where I approached Magic for her essence. Every other reality did not require it. If it's truly the case that Harry's soul was transported with the Hallows to another universe… the way they might affect the ritual's outcome is unpredictable.

Not to mention, Harry didn't give up his body, only his blood. Otherwise, there wouldn't be a body in the circle. The ritual would have used it to fuel the transfer and fix the dimensional tear."

Fate shook her head.

"So the soul transfer ritual was botched, but the Hallows might affect it in ways we don't know? All we can hope for is for Harry to activate them. That would be the only way we could meet him in whatever reality he ends up in."

"Sister? What is to become of this reality?"

Fate raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"It will take time, but the humans will eventually rebuild their societies and thrive one again. Why?"

"Due to the Daemon Lord, won't it be impossible for magic to exist again?"

Death seemed perturbed by the thought of there being no more magical creatures or wizards.

"Make no mistake, Death. Our sister is not so easily defeated. She will recover, no matter how long it might take. It could be decades, centuries, or even millennia, but she will recover. When she does, humans will once more start to receive her blessing."

Death nodded resolutely and looked at Harry's body one last time.

'Thank you for your sacrifice Harry. Even if it was your destiny to go to another reality, this one will forever be in your debt. Good luck. I hope your new life is a better one, and you activate the Hallows soon.'

She disappeared into thin air and silence reigned once again on the street.


	2. New Reality, New Me

"Harry Potter" - Dialogue

'Harry Potter' - Thoughts

He didn't know how much time had passed when he woke up. All he could see was a vast expanse of white all around him. Straining his eyes, he tried to see if he could spot any recognizable features around him.

'Am I in a deity's realm? Again?'

What was it about deities and the color white? Maybe it was based on his conceptualization of divinity. White was pure and associated with holiness, or so he felt. It made sense why whenever he visited the realms of Death, Fate, or Magic, white was all he could see.

'Did I die? That would make this Death's realm then?'

Looking around, he tried to spot her elusive figure. The first place he looked was behind him. She wasn't there. The only thing he could see was a thick white blanket of fog that surrounded him.

'Huh. Okay. Maybe I'm not dead, but in a coma?'

That would be an unwelcome surprise. Fate had said the Earth's magic was tainted and that all magicals would perish in the aftermath. What the hell was going to do if he somehow survived? Live the rest of his life as Muggle? After all the sacrifices he made? Not likely.

"I remember lying on the ground. There was so much blood. Oh, bugger me! The ritual!"

The memories of the eerie red light came crashing back into his mind. For some reason, it had activated even after Voldemort was dead. The only way that could have happened is if he fulfilled the conditions.

"Goddamn it! I can't even fucking die properly! What the hell am I going to do now?!"

This situation was totally out of his wheelhouse, and panic slowly started to overcome him. He had experienced his fair share of mysterious, life-threatening scenarios before, but this took the cake. What could he even do at this point?

Just as the feeling of panic was about to overwhelm him, Harry slapped himself across the face.

"Calm down, Harry! Panicking won't help you. Think!"

He forced himself to calm down and analyze his present circumstances.

'Okay. I died in the middle of a ritual circle meant to transport Voldemort to another reality. With how destructive our duel was, chances are the ritual went pear-shaped. However, I met the activation conditions by coincidence, so it may have done what it was meant to do. Now I find myself here.'

It was a disheartening realization. If the ritual went awry, then this might be the consequence. The transfer got obstructed, which trapped his soul to this sodding place.

Combined with all the shit that had happened immediately before, it made him want to cry in frustration. So that was what he did, and it was a cathartic experience.

During the war, there were many days where he felt like crying about the unfairness of it all. The amount of loss he had dealt with from a young age had nearly broken him.

Despite everything that happened, he managed to hold himself together, mainly out of necessity. Others had looked up to him as a leader, so he was required to swallow his grief and keep moving forward.

Now that he was in an unknown place all by himself, he let go of the tight grip he perpetually held on his emotions. Tears cascaded freely down his face as sobs racked his body. Thoughts of his parents, Sirius, Fleur, Tonks, and his squad-mates flashed through his mind. They were all gone. Yet again, he found himself all alone.

It took him a decent while to finally regain control of himself. When he recovered, his shoulders felt lighter, and his mind was clear. A small flame of hope had been ignited within him.

Seeing as there was nothing else he could do, he picked a direction and started walking. At the very least, he could possibly end up somewhere he recognized, or maybe find someone who could help him. This wasn't the end for him.

What felt like an eternity later, he was still walking, and there were no signs of anything. The blasted fog was everywhere, obscuring his vision despite the distance he had trekked. It was getting on his nerves.

'I can't believe this! Still nothing! How much farther do I have to go?'

He noticed during his journey that he wasn't feeling anything. Hunger, thirst, fatigue, and all the other feelings related to traveling long distances. His robes were in pristine condition, but both his wands were missing.

He had lost his original holly wand in a battle in Hogsmeade. A Blasting Curse had caught him unaware, and it had flown out of his hands. He had dispatched his assailant with his basilisk wand, but his original one was irreparably damaged. Since then, his basilisk wand became his primary one, while the Elder Wand was a spare.

However, in the last couple of years, he used the Elder Wand more than ever. With his increasing use of necromantic constructs in battle, he found it easier to cast the spells with the Elder Wand. The added advantage of receiving the knowledge required to turn the tide of battle had made it an indispensable part of his arsenal.

He attempted to call upon the Elder Wand, only to fail. That had never happened before. He had opened up his robes in a panic to inspect the Deathly Hallows symbol on his chest. To his shock, it was no longer there, meaning that all three Hallows were gone. He cursed loudly before deciding to keep moving. Nothing seemed to be going his way.

No matter how far he seemed to go, all he could see was white fog. It was maddening. He started to falter as his hope diminished with every step.

'Am I trapped here indefinitely? Is there even an end to this place?'

As he asked himself this question for what seemed like the hundredth time, he felt something. A pull on his body, not unlike that of a portkey. His eyes lit up with excitement. He was finally getting out of this Merlin-forsaken place!

The pull increased in magnitudes as he saw his limbs start dissolving into ethereal smoke. Harry closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. The feeling was getting slightly painful, so he needed to stay calm. This was quite possibly the only way he was getting out.

The pain increased as he felt a slow heat start building in his body. It got progressively warmer until it felt like he was on fire. He lost all sense of time as his body shuddered in agony. Gritting his teeth, he bore the pain as he felt the world around him twist.

Just as he was about to lose himself in the pain, it dissipated instantly. Harry struggled to open his eyes as he experienced a rapid shift in his surroundings. He felt a cool sensation on his forehead that wasn't there before. His blurry vision gradually sharpened as he slowly observed his new environment.

He was in what looked to be a sizable bedroom, much like one he would find in a traditional family manor. The room was elegantly decorated with ornate fixtures and tasteful furniture.

The one thing that stood out to him was the chair right next to the bed. It had a small pile of children's storybooks on it. French children's storybooks.

'I'm in a kid's bedroom in France? Did someone find my body and take it back to the Resistance FOB in Paris?'

He struggled to get up, as his body felt weak. With great effort, Harry propped himself up by leaning on the headboard. He felt a slight weight slip from his forehead and drop onto his lap. It was a damp towel.

Looking around, he could tell that the family that was hosting him was quite well off. He moved to pick up the fallen towel when he froze.

He noticed something worrying. His hand. More specifically, the lack of callouses and scars he had accumulated over the years.

He brought both hands in front of his eyes, marveling at them. They were smaller and looked like he hadn't worked a day in his life. Even his skin tone was noticeably different. Healthier.

'What the hell?' he thought as he carefully scrutinized the appendages. Something was definitely off. He couldn't put his finger on what it was though.

Deciding to get a better read of his predicament, he slowly eased himself off the bed. His feet settled into the plush carpeted floor as he gently pushed himself up. Taking a tentative step forward, he felt that his depth perception was off. The floor seemed a lot closer than it should have.

He felt a nervous pit start forming in his stomach. Several things were not adding up, and he was getting worried. Carefully making his way over to the dresser, he immediately realized what happened. He was no longer himself.

"Who the bloody hell is this?!"

Reflected in the mirror was a child that looked a lot like a much younger version of himself. More accurately, the version of himself after he had undergone the blood adoption to become Lord Black. Yet, there were some distinct differences.

His features were sharper, and his hair was soft and luxurious, without a trace of the wildness he inherited from his father. His eyes were still green, but the shade was darker than the light green color that everyone mentioned he received from his mother. Upon closer observation, there seemed to be minute, light-grey flecks dotted across his irises.

He lifted his hand and poked at his face, watching in fascination as the action was reflected in the mirror. He was not in his own body. The realization sent several thoughts racing through his mind.

'Did I take over this body? Is this the outcome of the ritual? Am I truly in a new reality? What happened to my original body?'

Before he could even begin to think about them, he heard the door open as a woman entered the room. She took one look at him and rushed towards him while yelling, "Archer!"

Her sudden appearance as well as what she said caught him off guard. Within seconds, he found himself ensconced in a tight hug as the lady buried his face into her chest. Bending down to his level, she started speaking worriedly in rapid French as she cupped his face in her hands.

Despite never having truly learned the language, he found that he understood her perfectly. Fleur had tried to teach him, but learning and practicing magic had been his main priority. He had picked up a couple of basic sentences over the years, but not much else. Now, he had an almost instinctual understanding of the language.

"Archer! Are you okay, my darling? Why did you get up?! You could have called me! What if you had fallen and hurt yourself?! You are still weak from that fever-!"

He could hear the love and concern in her voice, and it made him feel warm inside. She was a beautiful woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. Her features were refined and gorgeous, with bright blonde hair and blue eyes.

He interrupted her before she could continue chastising him.

"Maman. Don't worry. I feel much better."

The woman relaxed as she observed him.

"Archer. You were very sick last night. Even if you are feeling better, I want you to go back to bed and rest."

"But Maman-"

"No buts! Get back to bed right now, young man! I will bring you some food in 10 minutes."

"Yes, Maman."

Harry sullenly replied as he trudged back to the bed. Lying down, he watched the woman walk over to the drawer and retrieve a thermometer.

She came over and said, "open your mouth."

He obeyed and felt the metal tip settle underneath his tongue. After some time, she pulled it out. She carefully read the measurement and then smiled at him.

"99 degrees. One more day of rest, and you will be well again. Now be a good boy and stay in bed. After lunch, we can read a story, okay?"

"Okay!"

He automatically gave her an enthusiastic nod with a bright smile. She reached over and tousled his hair before getting up and making her way out of the room. As he heard the door close, he started reviewing their interaction.

'She must be the mother of this boy. Archer, was it? How was I able to answer her in French? Where exactly am I?'

A sense of guilt flooded him. Whatever happened to him was connected to this boy named Archer. Did the boy die? Was he responsible in some way? It was the only explanation he could come up with as to how he suddenly found himself inhabiting the boy's body.

He stewed for a while as he tried to come to grips with this realization. The woman walked back in with a bowl of soup and some bread. He hungrily devoured the food like he had been starved for days.

After lunch, the woman asked if he would like to read a story, but he declined. He needed to find out what was going on inside him and that required privacy.

It took him a bit of effort to convince the woman that everything was fine, but she relaxed in the end and gave him a kiss on the head before walking out the door. The lights were switched off, plunging the room into silent darkness, the perfect conditions to start his recovery.

He closed his eyes and tried to enter a meditative trance. It was easier said than done with how hyperactive his mind was. After considerable effort, he managed to calm down enough to see if his magic was active. The outcome of his investigation surprised him.

He could feel an above-average amount of magic within him. Unusually, it flowed through his body like blood. Unlike his previous body, where he had to actively push magic to his extremities, his new one didn't require him to do that.

Wandless magic would be second nature to him, seeing as his body was a natural focus. Though it seemed quite unstable as of the moment, meaning he wouldn't be capable of magic anytime soon.

As he was reveling in the feeling of closeness to magic, his mind was inundated with memories he didn't recognize. The influx increased dramatically after a few seconds, so Harry tried to utilize Occlumency to filter and understand them all.

To his horror, he discovered that the near-impenetrable Occlumentic barriers he had developed and refined over several years had completely disappeared. His mind was left without any protection against intrusion.

Gritting his teeth, he rode out the pain as the memories were forcefully downloaded into his consciousness. By the end of the transfer, his breath was ragged, and his clothes were soaked in sweat. After taking some time to collect himself, he started to review the memories he had received.

Archer had grown up in an orphanage for the first 5 years of his life. The matron had told him about a woman who had dropped him off in the middle of the night, only giving his first name and birthday, July 31st.

'Knowing my luck, that isn't a coincidence. Not by a long shot.' Harry thought as he continued perusing the information.

His early years were quite peaceful as the orphanage was well funded and had several ladies who took care of the children. From a young age, he had shown extraordinary intelligence, which had been fostered and developed by his caretakers. They went out of their way to give him lessons and books that helped him progress in his studies.

By the time he was 5, he was already speaking fluently with the reading comprehension of a senior primary school student. The matron had marketed his intelligence at one of the scheduled adoption days, and the results had been effective.

Several families had offered to adopt him, and he was actually given a choice as to where he wanted to go. He had spent a day with each of them to allow him to make his decision. Most of them were ordinary couples, and he had no doubt that they would all have been good options for him, but one pair had drawn his attention.

Jean-Luc and Sofia Beaufort had been a young and unassuming couple. They had taken him to visit their chateau. It seemed palatial in size, and after a short tour, they took him to a local restaurant for lunch. During their conversation, he found them to be engaging and fun. He had enjoyed the day with them immensely.

They were very energetic and caring, which had endeared him to them. Upon his return to the orphanage, he had made his decision right then and there.

The couple finished filing the paperwork, and within a week, it had been approved. The matron had happily congratulated him, helped him pack up the few belongings he had, and wished him all the best. That was the day he had become Archer Beaufort.

Life with his new parents had been amazing, to say the least. The library in the house was vast, and Archer spent a lot of time cooped up in there poring over the various tomes. He commandeered a comfortable leather chair, which was initially hard for him to climb into until they got him a step-stool.

They were enamored by his intelligence and similar to his previous caretakers, sought to give him the best education possible. Instead of sticking him into some exclusive private school, they took him on trips around the world. They focused on giving him an experience of different cultures while allowing him to meet people and make friends along the way.

His first couple of years with the Beauforts were spent jet setting around the globe, seeing picturesque sights, and experiencing the world in the lap of luxury. This was possible due to the Beaufort family's wealth.

Jean-Luc, or Jean as he liked to be called, came from old money. Old as in there had only been eleven King Louis' when his first known ancestor was born, old. His ancestor had become a blacksmith who catered to both aristocrats and the lower class.

That business had been passed on to his son, who grew it and passed it on to his son. That cycle continued until it became the leading metal manufacturing company in all of France. The company provided materials for everything from aircraft and arms to knives and fine silverware.

It had expanded into ceramics as well and been on the cutting edge for over three decades. Jean was wealthy beyond belief, despite him making a concerted effort to not look like it. He was a humble man who avoided flaunting his immense wealth in front of others with luxury goods and the like.

The business practically ran itself as Jean's father had appointed a trustworthy successor. The only time Jean actually had to work was when there was a crucial vote on the Board of Directors due to his family owning a majority of the company.

With his unbelievably lax work schedule, Jean was able to spend most of his time with him and Sofia. He was an attentive father who tended to spoil him quite a bit. The way he spoiled him was markedly different from what he knew other parents did.

He was quite a mature young boy, so he never threw tantrums for things like sweets or toys. His primary desires were books. Archer was a voracious reader, who loved reading about different topics that caught his fancy. Anything from the works of ancient philosophers to economics and physics.

Jean would often go out of his way to acquire some truly rare tomes for him. He justified the expenses by remarking that they would add value to the library after he was done reading them. Sofia wholeheartedly approved of her husband's presents, oftentimes adding in her own.

According to the memories, he had spent two years with the Beauforts. They had embraced their role as his parents, and he had led a blissful existence. It broke his heart to realize that he had interfered in Archer's newfound happiness. As an orphan himself, Harry felt especially guilty.

Sadly, it didn't look like there was anything he could do. Archer Beaufort had disappeared, and he had taken his place. No matter how unfortunate the circumstances, the only thing he could do was move on. He would live a great life in Archer's stead. With these thoughts floating around in his head, Harry let himself drift off to sleep.

'Who knew it would be so hard?'

Two weeks later, he was struggling. As a child, he had been starved of love and affection. The Dursleys had gone out of their way to abuse him on Dumbledore's instructions. Whenever he tried to get an authority figure to help him, they let him down. The constant let-downs had hardened his heart against adults in general.

In contrast, Archer had led a relatively blessed life, despite growing up in an orphanage. His parents showered him with unconditional love. Sofia had almost immediately picked up the subtle change in his behavior since the day he woke up. She had fretted over him several times, and it left him disconcerted.

No adult had ever worried about him out of genuine concern. Their seemingly good intentions had been rife with ulterior motives. He felt out of his element when Sofia constantly pestered him.

He was skilled enough in reading facial expressions to know that she was sincere. Sadly, a lifetime of dealing with betrayal had left him excessively paranoid. Was he even capable of reciprocating their love?

That question haunted him at night. Had the war stripped him of his emotions to such a point?

It took them a few more months, but Jean and Sofia had wormed their way into his heart. While he wasn't ready to forget or even come to terms with his traumatic past, they had given him some semblance of normality.

Their patient love and care made him decide to fully embrace his new identity. He declared Harry Potter dead. A victim of a botched ritual that spirited him away from his reality. Now, he was Archer Beaufort, son of Jean-Luc and Sofia Beaufort.

It would take time to leave behind his past, but he would be damned if he wasted the fresh start he received. This was something he had dreamed about for the longest time. After being Fate's whipping boy since birth, he felt he richly deserved an amazing next great adventure.

It was easier said than done, seeing as the memories would never really leave him. He could rest comfortably knowing that his new life as Archer Beaufort would allow him to make many good memories. Memories that might help him balance out and slowly forget the painful ones he had.

He had endeavored to find out if this new reality had magical societies like his old one. It was difficult, seeing as his family spent most of their time in the chateau while they weren't traveling.

Even when they did travel, they didn't wander too far off the beaten path. Jean and Sofia always kept him within their sight, as good parents would. He couldn't exactly traipse around on a quest to find magical places.

If this reality was similar, he would receive a Beauxbatons acceptance letter on his 11th birthday. Until then, all he could do is wait and prepare.

He was determined to stay clear of England for as long as possible. The British Wizarding World had left indelible scars on his psyche. There would come a time when he would eventually confront those demons, but it wouldn't be anytime soon if he could help it.

No, Archer Beaufort did not have the weight of the world on his shoulders. No psychopathic Dark Lord was after him. He was free to become whatever he wanted. Whether the magical world had a place in his future, was for him to decide. It was genuine freedom, and he cherished it.

That didn't mean that he was content to relax in his new circumstances. He was coming to love Jean and Sofia as the parents he never had. He would not allow them to come to harm if he could help it. That meant hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

If Voldemort existed in this world, then he would need every advantage he could get. He had languished at Hogwarts in his previous life. While not entirely his fault, he had been content to sit on his laurels while bitching about how dreadful his life was. That would not be the case this time around.

While he would never stoop to Voldemort's insanity, he would use whatever knowledge he had retained as effectively as he could. He wasn't sure if events had progressed as they had in his old reality. Even slight shifts could cause drastic changes that he wouldn't know about until he rejoined the magical world. Still, that wasn't going to stop him.

The most powerful tool in his arsenal at the moment was his intricate knowledge of rituals. Morgana and Salazar had given him priceless knowledge gleaned from decades of study. Both had willingly imparted their wisdom to ensure he had a higher chance of survival. He would utilize their teachings to give him a leg up.

Both his mentors had drilled into him the significance of arithmancy when it came to rituals. The most important numbers were 1, 3, 7, and 13, although the latter was primarily used only in Dark rituals.

British Pureblood families all had their fair share of family-exclusive rituals to aid their children. Magical strength was everything, and they did whatever was necessary to help their progeny get stronger. The example they had given him, was Draco Malfoy.

Whatever he could say about the ferret, he had never been considered magically weak. Even as a first-year, Draco had been an exceptional student and wizard. Even though he had gone out of his way to belittle others, he had garnered grudging respect among the Pureblood children. With the blocks on his core, Harry had struggled and barely managed to reach his level.

It was after he had gone through some minor enhancement rituals under Salazar's supervision, that he understood why. Draco had been ritually augmented several times from a young age. While none of the rituals had been anywhere near as potent as Salazar's or Morgana's, they had nonetheless given him an edge over his peers.

It had blown him away when he realized that even though he had been excessively bound, he had matched Draco. It had put the vastness of his magical strength into perspective.

Morgana had often lamented the fact that he had only started his rituals at the age of 14. She frequently mentioned how much more powerful he could have been if he started at age 7. That was something that he was determined to fix in this new life. For that, he needed to find the French magical street.

He had until the last week of June before his eight birthday to somehow find a place to procure the ingredients for the enhancement rituals. Ideally, the rituals would be the most effective on July 7th, but so long as he was still 7 years old, it would work.

The months passed as he tried his best to research his magic in this world. It was still volatile, so he had held off spellcasting. As the end of June approached, he started to get desperate. He needed to undergo those rituals to be able to protect his parents.

That was when he was struck with a risky yet ingenious idea. Assuming this reality was similar, the French Ministry would have a way of tracking magical energy spikes in the Muggle world. If he was able to create a large enough one, they would be forced to send the Aurors to check it out.

If executed properly, he would both gain confirmation of this reality's situation in comparison to his, and the location of a magical shopping district.

So he set out to create a disturbance that would hopefully attract the attention of the French Ministry.

With his magic being much wilder, he was not able to attempt anything complex. He decided to stick with charms, as they were both invisible and useful. The Lumos charm, while being simple, was not an option because it would draw the attention of Muggles.

Going through a mental list, he considered the pros and cons of different charms until he finalized his options. He decided to practice a versatile spell that could save his life in a pinch, the Summoning Charm.

The spell would be localized and only affect his immediate surroundings. The surge would only be noticed by other magicals, therefore preserving the Statute of Secrecy, if it existed in this reality.

'Merlin, I need to learn more about this reality immediately. Who knows how different it might be from my old one.'

He spent a couple of days mentally reviewing the lessons on the wandless Summoning Charm he had received from Morgana before practicing. A crucial factor that he needed to test was how magic worked in this reality.

It could be the exact same, or it could be vastly different. The method of spellcasting would affect any magic he tried to cast if it was not the same. He had to be careful because with how volatile and potent his magic was, the chances of hurting himself were high.

Two days before the end of June, he entered the library like he usually did. He felt a mixture of excitement and anxiety. This could be his first step back into the magical world. After the pain the magical world had caused him, he had been tempted to hold off several times.

In the end, his pragmatism and desire to protect his new parents won out. He had lost too much, and even if he was not as powerful as before, he would be able to hold his own. He had a family to think about now.

Picking up a random book from the shelf, he laid it on the table and walked five paces away. Turning around, he took a deep breath and cleared his mind. Closing his eyes, he focused inward, sensing his magic flowing within him.

He held out his hand and willed his magic to listen to his command. He felt it snap to attention, as the flow towards his right hand increased. A loud thwap sounded out as the book sailed into his hand.

His eyes shot open as his expression lit up in glee.

'Wow! Did I get it on the first try? I can't believe it was that easy!'

He walked back to the table and placed the book on it before turning around. As he was about to start pacing, he momentarily faltered.

'Shit. It was too easy. Does that mean it'll work no matter how far I am? Then how the hell am I going to draw the French Ministry's attention?!'

Taking a deep breath, he relaxed.

'Okay. Calm down. If it keeps working, then I'll improvise. Besides, shouldn't I be happy that wandless magic is this easy for me?'

With renewed confidence, he measured out double the paces of his last attempt. This way, if he had a limit, he would find it quicker. The library was vast, spanning a little more than half a football field. He had plenty of space to work with.

He repeated his test and found success, although he felt some resistance. This was good, as that meant he had a limit, and it might not work for him past a certain point. That was where his real test would begin.

It took several repeats until he was near the entrance of the library. Now he was struggling to summon the book. He was also tired of the repeated use of wandless magic. The scenario was perfect.

He attempted his summoning and failed. Determined, he tried again. The book stayed stationary. He continued his attempts hoping a burst of accidental magic would occur. Frustratingly, his efforts were met with nothing but failure.

'What am I doing wrong? I pushed myself to the limit, so my desire to get the book should have spurred my magic to flare and cause a disturbance.'

He thought back to his previous life and the acts of accidental magic. The time he Apparated to the roof to escape Dudley and his gang. The time he turned his teacher's hair blue. The time he vanished the glass cage of the boa constrictor in the zoo. He wanted to recreate such instances but was missing something.

He stood with a blank gaze, lost in his thoughts. After a couple minutes of consideration, his gaze sharpened. He scowled as he reflected on his stupidity.

'Emotions! All those times my magic acted up was when I was under duress. My mind is too disciplined to give in to my emotions. However, it's the only way I'll succeed.'

It was difficult for him to let his emotions overtake him. Years of war had tempered his mind into an analytical machine that allowed him to ignore pain, and calmly deal with whatever situation he found himself in.

The first lesson Salazar had ever given him on magical combat was on controlling his emotions. Or as he put it, "not being such a bull-headed barbarian like Godric". It was an important lesson that had allowed him to survive against overwhelming odds.

Since that lesson, he had never once lost control of his emotions until Fleur's death. Giving in to them was going to be a challenge, as nearly all his instincts honed over countless battles told him not to do so. An internal war was being waged in him, and he had no idea what to do about it.

'I need to find out about the magical government. I need to go through the rituals to prepare myself. If Voldemort exists in this reality, I will protect my family from him! He won't take them from me! Not again!'

Closing his eyes, he started whipping himself up into an emotional frenzy. Grief, frustration, resentment, and fury filled him as he brought his worst memories to the forefront of his mind.

Fleur casting Fiendfyre and sacrificing herself. Dora's corpse in Diagon Alley. Daphne, Luna, and Susan, all lying dead in a field of bodies. Gellert's farewell. Neville's and Julius' corpses brutalized by the demons.

Ten minutes later, his eyes opened, and gone was the wide-eyed, innocent Archer Beaufort. In his place stood Harrison James Potter-Black, The Black Lich. Slayer of demons, and the nightmare of Death Eaters. His emerald orbs glowed malevolently as his magic flared, forming a visible aura.

Reaching his hand out, he closed his fist, grabbing the air in front of him. He brought his magic to heel and commanded it to fulfill his wish. He pulled his hand backward, and his magic grabbed the world around him and twisted.

A low rumbling sounded throughout the library as thousands of books rattled on the shelves. Before he knew it, they started leaping off the shelves and formed a tidal wave of tomes. Their target? Himself.

This broke him out of his reverie, reverting him back to normal. He immediately made a break for the door. He had overpowered the spell. Significantly. As he threw open the door, he froze. Standing in front of him was his Sofia, with an anxious expression.

She had rushed to him after hearing the rumbling from the library. She saw the wave of books coming at them, so she hugged him tightly and turned away, attempting to shield him. At this point, he was panicking. His mother was about to get hurt because of his stupid plan.

His emotions were in turmoil as guilt and regret threatened to overwhelm him. His hubris might cause harm to his dear mother, who he had grown to love. The one he wanted to protect.

Reaching out to his magic, he yelled, "Stop!" The moment he spoke, the books froze in mid-flight. They both stayed still, waiting for the blow to arrive, only for it to never come.

Sofia had confusedly looked back to see a sight she would never forget. The books were suspended in mid-air, hanging by some invisible force. In a word, it was magical.

She looked at him as he stood mystified. The bell rang, bringing her out of her thoughts. She told him to stay put and not touch anything before she left to answer the door. He heard muted talking for a minute before footsteps started coming in his direction.

Judging by the noise, more than one person had entered the house. As they came into the hallway, he saw his mother walking next to a man in his thirties. He and his colleagues were all wearing powder blue cloaks that swished around as they walked purposefully towards him.

Archer's eyes glinted in recognition. He opted to act anxious and worried while internally whooping gleefully. The men were wearing the traditional uniform of the French Aurors.

The French Ministry existed in this world. He had succeeded in his endeavor and gotten the confirmation he wanted.

The man in the lead came up to him while gently smiling. "Hello Mr. Beaufort. My name is Captain Pierre LaRoche. Can you please tell me what happened?" Upon being prompted, he went into his pre-rehearsed spiel.

He had nervously explained to them how he really wanted a book but couldn't locate it. He mentioned how he became angry at not being able to find it, and something happened to him.

Before he knew it, the books were flying towards him and his mother, who tried to save him. He stressed that he didn't know what was happening and shouted "stop" and the mass of books had done just that.

Pierre had written down his statement in a small notepad and given him an encouraging smile before telling him that it wasn't his fault. His father came home right about that time, and was worried and confused by the blue cloaked men in the house.

Pierre had assembled them together in the living room before telling them to stay put while he checked on the situation. He had gone back to the library, and while his parents were looking at him worriedly, he heard excited exclamations coming from the hallway.

What he had done seemed to be quite impressive to the men. They were all mentioning how "powerful" he was, and speculating on his "magical potential". He decided the best course of action was to keep his mouth shut and feign ignorance.

Waiting for Pierre to come back, the full weight of his actions hit him all at once. His mother had been put in mortal danger because of his foolishness. He started to sob as he tightly hugged her while saying "I'm sorry" over and over again.

While on the inside, he was a battle-hardened veteran, his new body was interfering with his emotions. He sometimes forgot that he was effectively a young child again.

Most of the time, he was mature and in control, but there were occasions when the childish side of him surfaced. It was why he found himself crying on his mother's shoulder.

This was the scene that Pierre returned to. His mother was trying to calm him down as she looked apologetically towards Pierre. Pierre nodded as he flicked his wrist, retrieving his wand from his holster. Pierre pointed his wand at him and mumbled something he didn't catch.

A feeling of happiness came over him as his crying instantly stopped. It was weird as all of his sadness was washed away within seconds. He was surprised, as the feeling was familiar to him.

'A Cheering Charm!' he thought as his eyes widened in recognition.

Pierre gave him a smile as he noticed his look. "Let me explain Monsieur and Madame Beaufort. Your son is one of the people in this world with the ability to wield magic. His frustration and fear triggered the event in the library. In our world, we call what he did accidental magic."

His parents reacted skeptically to the word magic. They questioned his explanation, so Pierre asked them to allow him to demonstrate, to which they agreed. He waved his wand at the sofa they were sitting on, and they felt themselves floating higher. Suffice to say, that was all his parents required to be convinced that magic was real.

Pierre informed them about the existence of the French Magical Society and how children with the requisite magical power were all invited to the prestigious institute Academie de Magie Beauxbatons. There, they would learn about magic and how to effectively utilize it in their lives.

Archer's parents were stunned at hearing that an entire society of magic users existed, hidden away from them. They looked at Archer with wide eyes as they digested the information. Their son would go to a school for magic in the future? How amazing was that?!

In comparison, Archer was distraught. The Dursley's had tried to stomp out his magic through physical and emotional abuse. Their hatred of "freakishness", as they called it, spurred them to commit heinous acts against him. While he wasn't worried about abuse from Jean and Sofia, he didn't want them to fear him.

They must have seen the look on his face because Sofia soon wrapped him up in a tight hug. Gently stroking the back of his head, she spoke. "Archer, you have been given a wonderful gift. What happened in the library was an accident, and your magic saved both of us. Your father and I could never be afraid of you, my angel."

Tears pooled in Harry's eyes as he lost himself in her embrace. They accepted him for what he was. Relief flooded through him as he heard her words. He felt his father wrap his arms and at that moment, he mentally thanked Fate for giving him such loving parents.

Pierre watched the heartwarming scene with a bright smile. It always felt good to see parents who were able to accept their child's gift. Merlin knew how many he had seen become upset or react with violence.

He let them have their moment before interrupting by clearing his throat. Grabbing their attention again, he started explaining the different aspects of the magical world.

He let them know about the Place Cachee, the hidden street in Paris where magicals went to do their shopping. He recommended a well-known bookstore for Archer that would have some great resources to study magical theory.

The magical world was a very different place than the non-magical world. The French didn't use the term Muggle, opting instead to say non-magical, the rather self-explanatory term to designate people who didn't have magic. Throughout the world, magical societies interacted in different ways and held various policies about interacting with non-magicals.

He educated them on the Statute of Secrecy, which was an international law that prevented magicals from openly telling non-magicals about the existence of magic and the wizards and witches who wielded it.

He stressed in no uncertain terms that it was a crime to tell others about Archer's gift. His parents were understanding and promised to keep mum on the subject.

Their conversation was interrupted when a man who had accompanied Pierre updated him on the situation. They had successfully managed to restore the library to normal.

Hearing that, Pierre quickly reiterated his main points and bid them farewell. As the family saw them off from the porch, cracks of Disapparition resounded as the men disappeared one by one.

Archer, Jean, and Sofia stayed close to each other for the rest of the day. The two adults seemed ecstatic to discover a fantastical world they didn't know existed. Archer kept up with their enthusiastic conversation and went to bed that night, excited to finally start his plans.

After breakfast the next day, The Place Cachee had been their first destination. Following Pierre's directions, Archer guided his parents through the secret entrance within the statue, and they got their first view of the street.

It was a vivacious and bustling street with most men and women dressed no differently than in the non-magical world. Noticeably, some of the elderly wore outfits that looked dated. Otherwise, it was like watching just another street in France. The only difference was the stores.

Posters advertised books on magical subjects, bargains on parts of magical creatures, and even flying broomsticks. It was the most magical thing they had ever seen. Jean and Sofia were like children in a candy store, gawking at the creative and extravagant displays of magic by the various street performers.

Archer was also taken in by the sights, as he had never had the chance to see a magical shopping district other than Diagon Alley.

They first needed to convert their money into magical currency. Archer knew the only place that dealt with currency was Gringotts, so he guided Jean and Sofia to the large white marble building near the end of the street.

They crossed the threshold, walking by rows of armed guards looking fierce in their shiny gold armor. Jean and Sofia were wide-eyed and a bit intimidated by them. Archer made sure to hold their hands and drag them to the queue in front of the teller.

They waited silently for the line to move ahead. Once at the front of the line, Archer took the initiative to talk to the teller. He wanted to show the proper courtesy when addressing the teller but had to play ignorant of goblin culture. So, he opted for a semi-formal style of address.

"Good morning, Monsieur Teller. My name is Archer Beaufort, and I was recently informed of the magical world. My parents, Jean-Luc and Sofia Beaufort, and I came here to convert our money into magical currency."

That was the best he could do. Short, to the point and polite enough. Hopefully, the goblin would be appreciative of the effort and guide them properly.

The teller peered over the desk with a toothy smile. "Greetings wizard. Welcome to Gringotts. I am Master Teller Bonesmasher. The counter for conversions is on the left. Remember the next time you come in, so you do not waste time. Have a nice day."

It was better than expected, and he even gave some advice for next time. Overall, a decent first interaction.

Thanking the teller, he grabbed his parents and led them to the counter the teller specified. The goblin behind the desk barked. "How much do you want to convert?"

Archer nudged Jean. Jean quickly retrieved the money in his jacket and held it out. "2000 euros."

The goblin snatched the money and put it onto the scale in front of him. "Current exchange rate is 5 euros to a Galleon."

Archer tried his best to match Jean's and Sofia's confused look. "What's a Galleon, sir?"

The goblin growled in irritation. "A Galleon is a gold coin, the largest denomination of magical currency. Underneath Galleons are Sickles and Knuts. Silver and bronze coins, respectively. 29 Knuts to a Sickle. 17 Sickles to a Galleon."

As he spoke, a non-descript brown pouch appeared on the opposite scale as the paper money vanished. Grabbing the pouch. He held it out to them.

"Your total is 400 Galleons. This is a temporary Gringotts money pouch that will remain with you for a week. After which, it will return to us. You can buy a permanent one, for a fee, of course."

Archer took the pouch. "Thank you very much for your help, Teller...?"

"Backslicer." the goblin snarled.

Opening the pouch, he retrieved 5 Galleons and set it onto the table. "On behalf of the Beaufort family, I thank you for your excellent service, Teller Backslicer. Please accept this as a token of our gratitude."

Backslicer's eyes widened as he heard him. He retrieved the Galleons and gave a feral grin. "You will make for a good client, Archer Beaufort. You have good manners, for a _wizard_."

With a small bow, he swiftly guided his parents out of Gringotts and back onto the street. He let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. Being around goblins always made him slightly nervous.

They could be your best allies, but if someone offers them a better deal, they would stab you in the back without hesitation. It also didn't help that he had only ever had contact with goblins in the British branch of Gringotts.

Regional cultures might have differed, but one thing that stayed the same was their love of gold. It was something he had capitalized on.

Jean had questioned him once they were outside. He replied by stating that the goblins seemed greedy, so playing to their greed would put their family in their good graces. Even though he knew better.

The place Archer was most excited to visit was the bookstore. That was where he could start gathering information about this world. Based on what he learned, he could modify his plans accordingly.

On their way, Jean had joked that Archer loved the fact that there was now an entirely new world that had books he could collect for the library. They all had a good laugh at that.

Locating and entering the bookstore, they marveled at the size of the place. Archer recognized the Space Extension Charm being used to enchant the entire store to be larger on the inside. Jean and Sofia were wowed by the effect and simply put it down to the wonders of magic.

An elderly gentleman walked up to them with a jovial smile. "Welcome to Magillard Plumes and Tomes! My name is Marcel Magillard. How may I help you today?"

Archer took the lead. "Good morning, Monsieur Magillard. My name is Archer Beaufort. These are my parents, Jean-Luc and Sofia Beaufort. I used accidental magic yesterday, and a few Aurors visited our house.

Captain Pierre LaRoche recommended your bookstore so I can learn about the magical world and magical theory before attending Beauxbatons."

Magillard smiled brightly. "Ahh, Pierre told you about my humble bookshop? We have known each other for a long time. He is one of my best customers. Congratulations on discovering your magic, young Archer! I have just the books for you to read."

His expression became somber. "It is important to understand how magic works, but I must warn you. You _must not_ attempt to cast any spells or it might permanently damage your magical potential in the long run. Understood?"

Archer nodded. "Understood, Monsieur Magillard."

Magillard's expression reverted to one that resembled a kindly grandfather. He flicked his wand, and three books came whizzing towards him from the back of the store. They briefly floated in front of him before settling into his open hands.

He pushed them towards Archer. "These three are the most comprehensive primers for basic magical theory, the workings of the magical world, and the history of Beauxbatons.

As I mentioned, understanding the basic theory of magic is necessary for every magical. Magic is a fantastic and mysterious thing, young Archer. This book will help you learn what little we know about it. Having prior knowledge will also aid you in your wand-based classes in school.

The book on the magical world will give you a better understanding of magical cultures and how they differ from non-magical ones. When you enter a new world, it is helpful to learn the various traditions to avoid accidentally offending others. Magical cultures are fascinating, and a solid understanding will allow you to successfully blend in with your peers.

Beauxbatons is one of the finest institutions in Europe and one of the best magical schools in the world. Read up on the history before you attend, and I assure you that it will come in handy once you start your formal magical education."

Archer accepted the books. "Thank you so much, Monsieur Magillard. I look forward to reading these and learning about the magical world."

Magillard beamed. "Your welcome, young Archer. It is always a pleasure to see someone so interested in our world. Congratulations again, and I hope to one day see you come here for your schoolbooks when you turn 11.

In the meantime, please have a look around. Take your time and read about whatever interests you. We have a great many books on various subjects. I guarantee you will find something you like." With that, he left to assist another customer and left them to wander.

Archer turned back to his parents and beamed. "Maman. Papa. Can I please look around for a while longer?"

His parents laughed as his father ruffled his hair. "Of course, my boy. Go have fun and pick up whatever books you want. If we need more money, we can always go back to Gringotts to convert more."

He whooped in childlike delight and handed his mother the three books in his hand before rushing to the shelves in the back.

Once he was out of sight, the smile on his face faded, and what was left was a look of grim determination. He needed to focus on books that would give the most information. He asked an employee where the historical section was, and they guided him to it.

Flitting through the shelves, he rapidly scanned the titles of the numerous tomes. He stopped a couple of times and picked up books that looked promising. _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_, _Greatest European Magical Conflicts_, and a couple of others.

He was skimming through the first book and had come to the section on the 1970's British Blood War. Sadly for him, there was a Voldemort in this world too. He stifled the urge to curse loudly and profusely when he found out.

As he read on, he came across a piece of information that stunned him. Surprisingly, Voldemort had been stopped by a baby. A baby named Rose Lily Potter, known as the Girl-Who-Lived.

Things suddenly got significantly more confusing. His counterpart in this world was female. Not only that, but James and Lily Potter had survived that night. James was currently Deputy Head Auror of the DMLE, and Lily was apprenticed under Filius Flitwick for a Charms Mastery.

He didn't know how to feel about what he learned. On the one hand, he wanted to meet James and Lily to at least get a sense of what kind of people they were. He had never been able to meet them in his previous life, so the chance to get to know them was tempting.

On the other hand, he had self-declared Harry Potter as dead. He wanted nothing to do with Magical Britain for as long as he could. Besides, they were Rose Potter's parents, not his. Who knew how many changes that surviving that fateful Halloween would have caused in their overall character.

'No. My parents are Jean-Luc and Sofia Beaufort. My James and Lily Potter are dead, and there is nothing I can do about it. These people are not them.'

He repeated the mantra several times in his head before calming down and focusing on the next book. This one gave an overview of all of the significant magical conflicts across Europe for the last 1000 years.

It included several goblin rebellions, the conquests of the Roman Empire, the establishment of magical societies around the world, etc. Overall, a highly detailed book that would inform him of any deviations in the timeline as he knew it.

Finishing his trip to the history section, he browsed around all the other ones. He picked up books on Runes, Warding, Potions, Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and a book on magical sports. They were all intermediate level tomes except for the latter. That was more to show his parents what Quidditch was and express his interest in playing it. He missed flying.

They paid for their purchases and left with a feather-light charmed bag to hold the thick stack of books. They explored a few stores that sold convenient magical knick-knacks, and Sofia looked especially interested in exploring the clothing stores.

Near the end of their journey, he convinced his parents to let him visit the apothecary and the cauldron shop. He expressed an interest in potions, so his father had smiled ruefully and given him the money pouch to buy potions equipment and ingredients.

He entered the cauldron shop and gotten an affordable pewter cauldron, a mortar and pestle, a set of knives, a scale, and a set of vials. Heading over to the apothecary, he went over a checklist of everything he needed for the rituals.

The first set of three was all about bolstering his magic, so no ingredient other than his own blood was required. The second set of three was laying down a proper foundation for physical enhancements. He needed a couple of magical creature parts for that one.

The final ritual's purpose was to temper his magic and grant him more control over it. All he needed to do was offer his blood and magic to the Earth and take it back.

He had already made a decision on what physical aspects he wanted to enhance first. Speed was a given, as it would stack with all the other rituals he planned on going through. Endurance was another critical factor that would complement his speed enhancement.

He had initially wanted to focus on strength but realized his fighting style mainly relied on speed, both in ranged and close-quarters combat. On the rare occasions he had gotten close enough to use a sword or dagger, he primarily employed swift and lethal strikes. Therefore, strength wasn't as much of a concern, though he would definitely enhance it later on.

The final aspect he wanted to enhance was dexterity. Enhancing his fine motor skills would help when it came to drawing and carving runes, preparing potions ingredients, and making complicated wand movements quickly.

Satisfied with his choices, he went into the apothecary and purchased low-level ingredients in bulk before putting in an order for the exotic materials he would need for the rituals.

The three parts were Wampus Cat heartstring for speed, Hippogriff tendon for endurance, and an acromantula leg for dexterity. They would be offered as a sacrifice, so a portion of the physical properties of the animals would be permanently imbued into him.

It would be expensive, but this was all an investment in his future. His other purchases had totaled roughly 40 Galleons, and he would have to part with the rest of the money for the exotic ingredients he ordered.

He would have to track down the French version of Knockturn Alley soon, so he could acquire some of the more questionable items necessary for future enhancement rituals.

After paying for his items, he went back to the main square and saw his parents entranced by one of the performers. He was combining the Color-Changing and Bubble Charms to create a colorful painting. It was a very creative and skillful display that entertained the crowd that was watching.

He went up and grabbed their hands, alerting them to his return. They decided to leave and come back later next week to explore more of the various stores. They had dinner outside and drove home.

The days passed by as Archer awaited the owl from the apothecary to deliver his ritual ingredients. July had arrived, and he had less than two days to undergo the rituals.

He had used the potions equipment to create several healing potions. Pepper-Up, Fever-Reducer, Stomach-Soothing, and Blood-Replenishing Potions. His parents were slightly envious of the fast-acting cures the magical world had for common ailments. Non-magical medicine simply couldn't compare.

They had visited the Place Cachee a second time, and he had acquired a rune carving kit which he used to create a magical containment ward within his room. Any fluctuations caused by the ritual would not alert the French Ministry. Otherwise, it would be really tough to explain how he learned about rituals and what exactly he was trying to do.

He had managed to read all three books Marcel had given him. The magical theory book had been an eye-opening read. Spellcasting was distinctly different in this reality.

First of all, magic was everywhere. Witches and wizards channeled the magic around them through their bodies and back out through their focus as spells.

They had magical cores, but they were not used to store magic innately. They acted as filters to refine the wild magic taken in from the atmosphere.

As magical children grew up, their cores would experience rapid shifts in size. The most significant developments occurred at the ages of 7, 11, 13, and 17. The core could still grow beyond 17, but the pace would be much slower.

Core degradation started around 80 years old on average, but the speed was slow for powerful magicals. Also, special rituals could be used to slow it down even further.

With bigger cores, a magical would be able to channel greater amounts of magic to fuel more demanding and powerful spells. There was, however, a limit to how much they could channel.

The core was not a physical organ, so researchers theorized it was more spiritual in nature. If a magical cast too many spells, they would feel increasingly weak and find it harder to connect with the magic around them.

Nobody knew how or why this reaction happened, but there were numerous theories about it. The most popular idea stated that magic was a sentient life-giving force, so it sought to protect its children from harming themselves.

Having met Mother Magic herself in his previous life, he wouldn't have been surprised if that was the actual reasoning behind the phenomena.

It had been an interesting read, but something had stuck out to him. The method of spellcasting in this reality did not correspond to how his body used magic. He could feel a wellspring of magical power within him that was innate and not something he was absorbing from his surroundings.

While surprised by the revelation, he had simply put it to the back of his mind. His reasoning was that he was never normal, so it wasn't a big deal. He felt fine, so it didn't matter to him. Nonetheless, he would look into why his magic was different when he had the time.

He had been woken up the day before July 7th by a series of sharp taps on his window. Blearily making his way there, he saw an owl with a package attached to its leg. His sleepiness disappeared as excitement overtook him.

Unclasping the parcel from the owl, he looked at it. "I'm sorry, but I don't have any owl treats for you. I forgot to pick some up."

The owl gave a reprimanding hoot before taking off.

Giving a rueful smile, he opened the package and saw several shrunken boxes inside. There was a note that identified each ingredient along with all the charms on the storage boxes.

Putting it aside, he focused on the center of his room, where a runic circle had been inscribed magical chalk. He had spent the last week remembering the ritual process and necessary runes from his time learning under Morgana.

It had taken him several tries to get used to properly inscribing the runes. This reality had different inscription techniques that relied on polygonal shapes for structure. He wasn't used to the new methods, but he was a quick study. He perfected the standard heptagonal inscription method and had used it for the ritual.

With his preparations set, his lines rehearsed and timed, he was confident of his success. He went through the rest of the day like usual, spending most of his time in the library.

Before he went to bed, he gave the runic circle a final check and rehearsed his lines mentally. Tomorrow would be the first step on a long journey in this new reality. His next great adventure.

His alarm went off in the morning as planned. Mashing the snooze button, he vaulted off his bed. He walked to the bathroom while stretching his muscles. He would be standing for a long time and didn't want to get a cramp.

Freshening up, he returned to his room and took out the boxes that contained the sacrificial ingredients. Taking them out, he placed them in different sectors of the circle. He stripped off all of his clothing and felt a chill run through him.

He retrieved a Blood-Replenishing Potion from his desk, the clock from his nightstand, and a clean silver potions knife. He set the clock and potion just outside the circle while keeping the knife in his hand. He strategically placed the clock in front of him, and the potion right next to it. Taking a few deep breaths, he settled himself into the center of the runic circle and started waiting.

His main plan relied on using arithmantically powerful and stable numbers to make sure the ritual went well and had the most effect. He was going to completing 1 set of 7 rituals. The process would start at 7:07 on the dot. The whole set would be finished in 77 minutes, with each individual ritual spanning 11 minutes.

He had thoroughly practiced modifying the speed of his speech and properly intoning all the Latin phrases. The only thing he was missing was a personalized ritual dagger, and while it would have been nice to have one, it wouldn't affect the success of the ritual.

He kept a close watch on the clock and stood up as the seconds ticked down to 7:07. The moment the second hand pointed straight up, Archer started reciting the phrases.

He cut himself across the palm and held it facing downwards, watching the blood slowly drip down onto the circle. The runes started to glow dimly as his blood turned the white chalk red.

The first ritual was about cleansing his magic and blood of any contaminants. The second involved increasing the flexibility of his core to handle larger amounts of magic. The third was the one he needed the most, as it allowed Harry to gain greater control over the flow of his magic throughout his body.

While his new body was very good at evenly distributing his magic, he noticed the delayed responses when attempting wandless magic. If he hadn't been influenced by the shift in personality, he would never have been able to take control of his magic as he did. This particular ritual would make it easier for him to marshal his magical energy both when casting and in general.

After they were done, he went onto the physical enhancements. He walked over to the Wampus Cat heartstring and let the rivulets of blood fall onto it. His blood ignited into a white fire that started to engulf the heartstring. It released opalescent wisps as the fire spread.

Walking back to the center of the circle, he kept chanting as the wisps made their way to him and started surrounding his body. He felt a brief upswell of energy before his fog-like surroundings cleared up. He repeated this process twice for the Acromantula leg and the Hippogriff tendon before he proceeded to the final ritual.

This was one the most important for him as it would calm down his violently energetic magic. It was absolutely critical that this went off without a hitch. Despite the massive amounts of blood that he had lost and the weakness he felt, he held on.

Biting his tongue to force himself to stay awake, he continued on with the final ritual chanting as he fed all of his remaining magic into the Earth. He could feel his magic burrowing into the floor and seeping down into the ground underneath the chateau's foundations.

It kept going deeper and deeper until he hit what was most likely a major ley line. It was a feeling, unlike anything he had ever experienced before. The closeness he felt to the steady flow of magic throughout the world was a heavenly experience.

If he had to compare it, the only thing that came close was when he invoked Mother Magic to channel her energy through him to cast a divine spell. This felt less forced and much more natural.

It was like he had become one with the magical energy all throughout the globe. Feeling the energy and emotions of hundreds of different magical beings.

The hum of energy at various magical sites like the Pyramids of Giza, Stonehenge, and the like. It threatened to overwhelm him as he steadfastly kept the chant going, trying not to lose himself.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he finished the ritual and regained his bearings. He was instantly very nervous. Frantically glancing at the clock, he saw that the second hand had just passed the 12 o'clock mark.

Looking at the other hands, he saw the time reflected. 8:24 AM. He had succeeded. His ritual set had ended perfectly on time. All of his efforts had paid off.

A strangled giggle made its way out his lips as a smile stretched wide across his face.

Immediately reaching for the vial of Blood-Replenishing potion, he uncorked it and chugged it down. The ritual had healed his cut at the end, but the blood sacrificed had not been replaced. He would be weak for the next couple of hours as the potion worked its magic.

In the meantime, he walked over to the wall and sent some magic into the concealed rune cluster he had engraved onto it a few days ago. A pulse of magic emanated from the wall, and the remnants of the ritual were swept away, leaving no trace.

'Merlin that is so convenient.' he marveled at the instantaneous cleaning of his room.

Something he immediately noticed was how much calmer his magic felt when he was pushing it into the cluster. It was no longer like bubbling lava, feeling more like a calm ocean. It still flowed naturally on its own, and while he did not have complete control over it, it was a large improvement.

He felt a sense of weakness overtake him as he stumbled towards the bed. Even with the Blood-Replenishing potion, it would take the rest of the day to recover. However, once he did, he would be able to start using his magic.

Grabbing his clothes, he slowly slipped them on before sliding back underneath the blanket. Cocooning himself with it, he closed his eyes and was asleep within seconds.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. To those who read the original version of the story, this is the first major change in the rewrite. Harry has taken over a boy named Archer's body, but he is in full control.

One of the major plot points in the beginning will be him acclimatizing to his new life. It won't be easy, especially dealing with his tragic past. Hopefully, I'll be able to write it well enough without dragging out the drama excessively.

Another thing is that people have been asking if I can make Harry god-like in this new incarnation of his. While he will be the Lord of several houses (a trope, I know), there will be a good reason for each and every one of them. I've been planning this rewrite for a while and it is a slow going story. I want to reveal certain things later on, so all I ask is for your patience.

I've been wondering for some time if sticking with the same story is the proper thing to do. A lot of the reviews of the old version have stuck around and are no longer relevant to this iteration. So I think once I figure out how to create a poll, I'll make one that'll ask your opinion on whether I should transfer the rewrite to a completely new story and re-upload the old version to this one. I'm not sure what to do, so I'll leave it up to you the readers. I honestly don't mind starting over and regaining followers. I don't particularly care about my stats. This is just a fun side project for me.

I've gotten used to the demands of my new job for the most part. However, my role can change within the team and that might affect how much time I have to write. I'll keep you guys updated on the schedule and if I can stick to it consistently. Thanks for your patience and understanding.

Cheers,

AltruousAlliterator


	3. School Shopping and Fated Encounters

"Harry Potter" - Dialogue

'Harry Potter' - Thoughts

_Harry Potter_ \- Flashback Dialogue and Thoughts

* * *

Three years had passed from the day he had conducted the rituals, and many things had happened. After his magic had stabilized, he had finally been able to start working on his Occlumency again.

Progress had been much slower than he had thought it would be because he hadn't accounted for an important factor. Regardless of the years of memories inside his mind, he was still a child.

He had never experienced trauma to mature him early. His mind was disorganized and chaotic, like most children's minds. It made learning Occlumency challenging, but he found that there was no need to rush.

Pushing magic into the mind was a subtle practice that had no shortcuts. The human brain was sophisticated and got even more complicated once magical energy was added into the mix. If he rushed and made a mistake, it could have dire consequences.

Over the years of visiting Place Cachee for books and the occasional magical toy, he had noticed something interesting. Magicals seemed to have a much closer subconscious relationship with their magic than in his previous world.

He had theorized that this deeper connection was due to the unique method of spellcasting. By frequently interacting with the magic around them, it became an intrinsic part of them. This idea made sense if one considered the core as being an extension of the soul.

He first came across the notion when he saw an older teenager effortlessly levitating a teacup. The boy had looked like he was an upper-year in Beauxbatons. After careful observation, he had seen several other instances of store owners and adults using wandless magic.

In his old world, only exceedingly powerful magicals were capable of wandless magic. Men like Albus Dumbledore, Voldemort, Grindelwald, and himself were the only ones he knew. He had never encountered any other people able to use it.

Admittedly, there was no way to know if that was because people thought it impossible. All accidental magic was wandless after all. After children received their wands, it became harder for them to do.

Here, wandless magic seemed almost natural. From his research, there was even an elective class on it at Beauxbatons for fifth years and up. It annoyed him to think that something he had considered a deadly secret skill of his was so pedestrian to the inhabitants of this world.

His parents had started getting more involved with his education. They had brought in a bunch of private tutors to cover all the material leading up to university. Thankfully, the subjects were similar to what he had previously studied, so he was able to breeze through the curriculum.

His tutors had been stunned by how easily he had completed the middle school curriculum within a few months. They started on the lycee (high school) curriculum on the New Year after his 8th birthday.

He never had the opportunity to go to high school before, so he was excited to learn new things. With his daily Occlumency practice, he found it easier to remember what he had learned.

Every day, his mind became slightly more organized. This helped tremendously with recalling information. With his reading habits and intensive studying, he was breezing through the curriculum. His parents and tutors were ecstatic with his progress and encouraged him to pick up extracurricular activities as well.

He had always been interested in sword fighting ever since he learned from Weapon Master Swordbreaker, the goblin in charge of training the guards of Gringotts. He still remembered the numerous painful lessons Swordbreaker had ingrained into him.

_Swords collided inside a stone room deep within Gringotts London Branch. The clash of steel reverberated around the room. _

_Rivulets of sweat dripped down Harry's back as he struggled to break contact. It had been a month since he started learning the art of sword fighting from Swordbreaker. _

_Their lessons started at 4 in the morning and went on for 5 hours. They always began with a warm-up and stretching before going into intense cardio and what Swordbreaker called battle drills. Harry affectionately referred to it as Hell on Earth._

_Despite being ridiculously powerful magically, he had never bothered working out. Most magicals never did, seeing as their battles were primarily long-range in nature. Their magic also helped them retain their youth and fitness without much effort on their part. Something as simple as a well-balanced diet would keep them slim and trim._

_Those who took up sports like Quidditch and trained would be fitter and healthier than most Muggle athletes. Other than standard Quidditch practice, he had never seen the need for exercise._

_Swordbreaker had taken that as him being a lazy, good-for-nothing wizard. He took the initiative to whip Harry into shape by using pain as the motivator. The goblin version of Stinging Hexes was used to force him to confront his limits and surpass them._

_For a split second, he lost focus, and the consequences were brutal. He felt his sword being wrenched from his hands, tearing several layers of skin and leaving them bleeding. _

_Before he could react, he was hit with a Bludgeoning Hex center mass. His chest burned as he felt his ribs creak inward. The power behind the spell was enough to throw him back a couple of meters._

_His hand found his way to the point of impact as he shakily stood up. The little bastard had cheated._

_"What the bloody hell was that for?! You said this was purely sword fighting and no magic was allowed!"_

_Swordbreaker scoffed as he casually walked towards him. " Yes. I did say no magic was allowed. For you, of course. I was allowed to use whatever I deemed necessary."_

_"That's not fair! You can't just cheat whenever it suits your purpose."_

_Swordbreaker barked gruffly. "Tell me, wizard. Are your enemies going to play fair? Hmm? Do you think your Dark Lord Voldemort cares about honor?"_

_Harry opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out of it. Swordbreaker was making a valid point. Seeing as Harry wasn't going to reply, he continued._

_"There is no honor in war. The Death Eaters are a terrorist organization. They will use whatever means necessary to win. If you want to stand any chance against them and their leader, you will have to abandon that childishly idealistic attitude of yours." _

_Harry had taken the time to collect himself for a proper reply this time. "I understand where you're coming from Swordbreaker. I really do. However, if you think that I'll give up my morals and debase myself like those bastards, you've got another thing coming."_

_Swordbreaker harshly snapped. "Did I ever tell you to give up your morals? Make no mistake, wizard. Honor and morals are two completely separate things. A warrior can be without honor but still have morals. An honorless, amoral warrior is nothing but a psychopath._

_Take every advantage you have. Attack your enemies when they're least expecting it. In their houses where they feel safe, or while they are separated and vulnerable. Hell, ambush them while they're on the toilet. _

_It doesn't matter, because the outcome is the same. They will die, and you will live to fight another day. Fight dirty and never let up until your foes lie dead at your feet. Got it?"_

_Harry swallowed his pain and nodded. He caught the sword the elder goblin tossed at him, wincing as the metal made contact with his injured hand. Getting into his stance, he waited for Swordbreaker to attack._

_The goblin chuckled. "Good. Your hands are wounded, and now you must fight while compensating for it."_

_"Again!" he yelled as he charged forward. The sound of clashing swords started anew in the chamber._

Archer shivered as he recalled the brutal training sessions. It had been one of the most painful crucibles he had ever gone through, and it had paid the most dividends. While he would never have called himself a master swordsman, he had used a sword several times to good effect.

His skill with the sword and dagger had made many a Death Eater think twice about fighting him at close range. Another factor in his combat ability was his skillful application of martial arts when magic or weapons weren't viable.

Before the magical world had been exposed, Death Eaters often liked to cause chaos in the Muggle world. There, magical dueling and sword fights would draw a lot of attention. To circumvent the limitations, Harry learned martial arts and turned his body into a weapon on its own. Combined with the enhancement rituals, he had taken down Death Eaters while keeping the Statute intact.

He didn't have many opportunities to use his martial art skills after the magical world was outed, but he kept them sharp nonetheless. There was something therapeutic about full-contact martial arts. Beating the stuffing out of people never failed to rid him of the stress he was under.

'With how early I've started augmentation in this world, martial arts will definitely come in handy.'

With that idea in mind, he had expressed his interest in fencing and martial arts to Jean. Jean then used his connections to hire the best instructors he could find.

From the age of 8, Archer was instructed in fencing by a former Olympic gold medalist, and in martial arts by two world-renowned practitioners of Muay Thai and Pencak Silat. He had chosen Muay Thai due to the devastating and lethal strikes that put down enemies hard and fast.

By combining it with Pencak Silat, he added deflection and hand strikes to his repertoire. It also specialized in fighting multiple opponents, perfect for chaotic close range encounters.

He had found out something interesting in his research. Due to the unique spellcasting method the people used, one of the side effects was the natural ability to boost physical attributes with magic.

Magicals could channel magical energy into their arms for more strength, eyes to see better, and the like. Though they were temporary in nature, he knew that it would mean the Death Eaters wouldn't be physically useless, as he was used to.

Still, with the rituals, his base strength would be far higher than their magically boosted prowess. However, it would be careless to underestimate even the ordinary grunts. This ability would make hand-to-hand combat harder, but being trained would give him the advantage.

He had taken to it like a fish to water, according to all of his instructors. They all proclaimed that he was some sort of martial arts prodigy. He felt a little guilty, as he had been highly proficient at the arts in his previous life. Their training was more a review than anything.

That being said, the training worked wonders in helping him adjust to his new body. All of the problems he was initially encountering were erased completely. His agility, hand-eye coordination, and strength quickly improved under their supervision.

His fencing teacher, in particular, had pushed him to start competing in tournaments. He was initially extremely wary of the idea. He had refused multiple times until he saw his parents' faces.

They were so excited to be able to see him triumph and gain recognition for his talents. Their expectations weighed on him for some time before he gave in. They were doing so much for him by financing his training. The least he could do was give them a reason to be proud of their son.

It was difficult to reconcile the two incomparable childhoods he had memories of. Harry had been conditioned to not seek attention and avoid scrutiny as much as possible. Archer was raised to be proud of his talents, and his parents instilled a sense of confidence in him.

'It's time to let go of the past me. Harry had a terrible childhood. The slate was wiped clean. Now, there's only Archer. Jean and Sofia deserve a son that will make them proud.'

Agreeing to compete, he had decided to train in both epee and saber. The epee was a thin triangular bladed sword that allowed for lightning-quick thrusts. It closely resembled a traditional French smallsword and was great for training his reflexes and speed. He had never handled such a thin sword before, so he was excited to try it out.

The saber, on the other hand, was the only cutting weapon in fencing. While thin and light, it held the most resemblance towards the Sword of Gryffindor, which used to be Harry's main sword. Utilizing his refined combat skills would be straightforward due to the familiar shape, as all he had to compensate for was the smaller size.

After months of intense training, he made his debut at the French National tournament. To say that his fights were one-sided would be generous. It had been a massacre. His opponents didn't stand a chance against him, and soon everyone in the audience knew it too.

He had breezed through the competition without any problem. His final match was slightly harder than the previous ones, as he was paired against an older opponent with a longer reach. This was where his martial arts training shined, as he was able to use advanced footwork to close the distance rapidly and surprise his opponent.

He remembered the joy in Jean and Sofia's expressions when the officials gave him the championship trophy. From then on, he had gone out of his way to compete in fencing professionally. Soon enough, the whole world learned of the up and coming French fencing prodigy Archer Beaufort.

For the next 2 years, he competed at the national and international levels. Now, trophies decorated both the grand room and his bedroom. Whenever they had the occasional guest, his parents never failed to show off the numerous awards that spoke of his skill. Seeing their happiness made him feel like he had made the right decision.

His Occlumency had come a long way, and he had finished the entire lycee curriculum a few months after his 10th birthday. After finishing, he had taken the Baccalaureate exams.

Unsurprisingly, he had put in a lot of effort to study for them, and scored the highest in his year. With that exam finished, he had technically graduated from high school. With the final few months remaining before he got his letter from Beuaxbatons, he decided to solely focus on his magical studies.

He had managed to improve his wandless magic to a decent level. His wandless spell repertoire was on the smaller side, but he had trained himself hard enough that he could do nearly all of the spells in his sleep.

His studies in spell creation had been coming along very well. After he had learned both Runes and Arithmancy, he had wanted to start crafting spells. He learned early on that it was not as easy as it sounded.

He had been struggling for almost a year to create a practical, unique spell he could use. It didn't help that his physiology and spellcasting method was significantly different from that of the average magical.

The months flew by as Archer attempted to further himself in his studies until the fateful day came. His 11th birthday.

He had woken up early in the morning in anticipation of receiving his letter. He was beyond excited to start his magical education. After 3 years of being limited to wandless magic exclusively, he missed having a proper wand. Entire fields of magic had been out of his grasp until today.

He went through his morning routine two times as fast, vaulting down the stairs with his hair still dripping wet. His mother was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. Seeing him approach, she came over and gave him a hug.

"Happy birthday Archer! 11 years old! My how time has flown by."

Withdrawing from the hug, she noticed a stain on her left shoulder. Looking back up, she saw the state of his hair and the droplets falling down.

"Archer! I know you're excited to get your letter, but you'll catch a cold if you walk around in this chill with wet hair! Go back and dry your hair properly."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The enhancement rituals made sure that he would be as healthy as a horse. Something as inconsequential as a non-magical common cold wouldn't affect him for the rest of his life.

Nevertheless, he listened to her and went back up to dry his hair. Her concern was touching, no matter how misplaced it was. If he could keep her happy by listening to her on certain small things, it was worth it.

He walked upstairs and waited a minute before casting a drying charm on his hair. All the water disappeared as his head heated up slightly. Thank Merlin for the book on beauty charms he had picked up out of curiosity. It still boggled his mind to know that there were so many different charms for styling hair.

Making his way down for the second time, he saw his mother give him a bright smile upon noticing his dry hair. He smiled back and sat down at the table. The smell coming from the kitchen was incredibly tantalizing. It seemed like his mother was making all of his favorites.

10 minutes later, his assumption was proven correct. A stack of double chocolate chip pancakes with maple syrup and strawberry sauce was placed in front of him. On the side, there were freshly baked croissants and homemade raspberry jam. Rounding it all out was a piping hot cafe au lait.

He tore into the food with gusto. He noticed over the years that as his physical and magical training intensified, his appetite had increased exponentially. He knew it was the side effects of the ritual, and it would no doubt increase once he hit puberty.

As he was finishing up, an owl soared through the open kitchen window. He had made sure to tell his mother to keep the window open in advance. It majestically swooped down on the table and landed in front of him. Sticking its leg out, it gave a loud hoot.

Carefully unfastening the letter from its leg, he wandlessly summoned a freshly cooked strip of bacon that his mother had prepared for herself and his father. Breaking off a small piece, he presented it to the owl, which gave a chirp before devouring the piece.

"Would you mind waiting for a minute while I write my reply?"

The owl gave a hoot and a nod to his question.

Seeing it agree, he broke the rest of the bacon into bite-sized pieces and left the pile in front of it. Bounding back up the stairs, he went to his bedroom and opened up the letter.

It was a standard acceptance letter that mirrored one from Hogwarts. Perhaps there was some sort of international standard among the schools? He didn't know, but right now, his primary focus was on replying.

Taking a parchment from the large stack he kept on his desk, he grabbed a quill and wrote a quick reply. It was semi-formal and informed the sender that he didn't need a guide to the Place Cachee.

Reviewing it once, he folded it up and put it into an envelope which he addressed to Beauxbatons. He walked down and saw his mother petting the owl in delight. The owl seemed to be enjoying it, seeing as it was leaning into her touch.

Clearing his throat, he walked over and gently tied the letter to its leg.

"Thank you so much for delivering my letter. I hope the bacon was to your liking."

The owl gave a satisfied hoot.

"Excellent. Please get this back to Beauxbatons as quick as you can. I wish you a safe journey."

The owl gave a mighty flap of its wings before taking off back towards Beauxbatons. He tracked it until the horizon where it disappeared into the clouds. It was finally time to start his journey into the French Magical society.

He turned around and addressed his mother. "Maman. Can we go to Place Cachee today? I have a list of things I need to buy for school, and I can't wait to get my wand!"

His mother smiled. "Of course, my darling. Let's wait for your father to finish his breakfast, and we'll go right after. Promise."

Archer nodded and thanked her before heading up to his room. Sitting down on his bed, he started his Occlumency exercises. The childlike senses of excitement and wonder were affecting him again. He thought he had gotten a handle on it several times, only to be proven wrong afterward.

He didn't know how long he had meditated before he heard a series of light knocks on his door. His mother's voice came muffled from the other side.

"Archer. Time to leave for Place Cachee. Are you ready?"

"Coming, Maman. I just need to put on my jacket and shoes."

Leaping off the bed, he went into his closet and grabbed a navy blue hoodie and slipped on a pair of white sneakers. As he went downstairs, there was a pep in his step.

The family left at 10AM and drove to a spot near the Place Cachee. After entering, they decided to go through the list one store at a time. They first headed to Gringotts to open an account.

He had asked about creating an account a couple of years back. The goblins had told him that only when he started his magical education was he able to start an account. Until then, he was classified as a Muggleborn that hadn't yet officially entered the Wizarding World.

Now that the day had finally come, Jean had prepared a staggering amount of Muggle currency. A total of 1, 000,000 francs to pay for his tuition at Beauxbatons for all seven years, along with any other purchases he wanted to make in the magical world.

While that kind of money was enough to keep the average French family afloat for several years, it was but a drop in the ocean for Jean. The company was doing really well in the last couple of years.

The investment firm that handles Jean's portfolio had also managed to make a sizable profit. Overall, they had not only retained their status as one of France's wealthiest families but also managed to increase their already massive fortune.

The goblins were pleased to be getting wealthy new clients with money to spend. Based on Archer's previous interactions, they were all too happy to start an account for him. The Master Teller had summoned a goblin who took them to an Account Manager.

Stepping into the office, they saw numerous weapons lining the wall. Swords, axes, shields, and spears were mounted onto the walls. Jean and Sofia became nervous, but Archer kept calm.

The decorations were just an intimidation tactic to give the goblins an advantage when people who didn't know any better. Such petty tricks wouldn't work on someone like him.

An older goblin was seated behind a large mahogany desk shuffling pieces of parchment. He noticed their arrival and gave a wide grin that showcased his sharp teeth.

"Ahh. You must be Monsieur and Mademoiselle Beaufort. Please take a seat. My name is Grimjaw, and I am a Senior Account Manager for Gringotts. I hear you wish to open an account for your son?"

Jean swallowed before replying. "That is correct. Our son Archer will be attending Beauxbatons this Fall. I wanted him to have an account that he could use to pay his tuition and anything else he needs to buy. After years of simply converting money, we felt that this was a sensible decision in the long term."

Grimjaw's eyes flitted over to Archer. He met Grimjaw's gaze with cold apathy. The first trick to dealing with goblins was to not show any weakness. If they saw you as weak, they would go out of their way to capitalize on it and screw you over.

Right now, they didn't know each other, so the only thing he would show was politeness. There would be no warmth or attempts to suck up. It was strictly business between them until Grimjaw showed how well he performed his duties.

Nobody spoke for several seconds as the tension in the room rose. Grimjaw was the first to break the silence as he gave a throaty chuckle.

"Your son is quite different from other children. He has the eyes of a warrior."

His parents were caught off guard by the compliment, but Sofia managed to mumble out a quiet "Thank you". Archer simply held his gaze unblinking. He had gained a small modicum of respect from Grimjaw, but real business was yet to be addressed. Next came the discussion of the terms.

"We are aware of the extent of your holding in the non-magical world, Monsieur Beaufort. Suffice to say, we are happy to take your family on as a client. Let us discuss the terms of our arrangement."

He retrieved a few sheets of parchment before casting a Duplication Charm and presenting them copies. "This is the standard contract for all new accounts. Please read it and have your son sign if you accept the terms."

Archer started reading through the contract without missing a single punctuation mark. This would be one of the most important documents he would sign in the magical world.

The only sound heard in the room for several minutes was the shuffling of parchment as they read the contract. Almost immediately, Archer started spotting cleverly hidden clauses and noticed that the fees were much higher than what a standard magical family would pay. Seeing as they were trying to screw his family over, it was time to take off the kid gloves and play hardball.

Without bothering with any pretense, he slammed the contract onto the desk. "What the hell is this?"

Grimjaw's eyes twitched slightly. "I'm afraid I am unaware of what you are referring to."

Archer's tone felt like it could freeze the Sun. "Let's be very clear here Grimjaw. This is not a contract for a new account, this is the Goblin Nation attempting to screw my family over. These terms are laughable. Whoever made this contract is either an idiot or thinks they are dealing with one."

He purposely addressed Grimjaw without his title to express his displeasure, and insult the goblin for thinking him so naive.

Grimjaw's mouth tightened as his eyes narrowed. "Careful how you speak, wizard brat. The only reason you got these favorable terms was because of your past conduct within our branch. Now I see it was a mistake on our part."

Archer gave a hearty laugh. "Favorable? If these terms are favorable, then what does everyone else sign off, their firstborn? 12% annual vault fees? Just for the privilege of storing our gold in a standard vault without security enchantments? An inheritance tax that takes 15% of the total liquid value if I want to bequeath it to my children? 2% fees on every transaction where I withdraw from the vault?

Do you think me feeble-minded, goblin? We both know exactly why my family was led to your office instead of a Junior Account Manager. If you don't start offering satisfactory terms, then my family will be happy to take our money elsewhere. Perhaps the gnomes in Switzerland?"

His parents were getting worried as Grimjaw tensed and shook with anger.

Grimjaw took out a knife and slammed it down onto the table, burying it almost halfway. "You insolent whelp! You dare to insult a Senior Account Manager of Gringotts within its walls?! Maybe tossing you into a cell for a couple of hours will make you more amenable."

Jean and Sofia jumped in their chairs when Grimjaw took out the dagger.

Archer stared back coldly. "Please. Unless you want to start yet another war, you won't dare to falsely imprison a wizard. Last I checked, insults did not count as a criminal offense."

Grimjaw sneered. "That's correct. Imprisoning you might be problematic. However, that same protection doesn't extend to your parents. After all, non-magicals don't have any rights in the magical world. This is especially true inside Gringotts, which is the territory of the Nation."

Archer almost thought he heard wrong. Did this motherfucker actually threaten the lives of his parents to get him to sign the contract? Goblin cells were made to slowly torture and break the wills of magicals. No non-magical would ever stand a chance inside one of them.

Within a second, he dove into his mind. He had made an intriguing discovery since the incident in the library when he was 7. Deep inside his mind, there existed a remnant of his old personality. When he brought it to the forefront, he would become the feared Black Lich once more. He appropriately called it his Lich mode.

With a lot of practice, he was able to create a mental switch that acted as a signal to awaken his old personality. For whatever reason, his control and skill in magic were vastly different than his usual self.

Archer Beaufort struggled and worked hard to gain control of his magic. Harry Potter was a magical giant that seemed to have a near-impossible level of control and almost unlimited spellcasting potential. However, it was a double-edged sword due to the mental strain it put on him.

The switch was fueled by reliving the worst memories he could think of on repeat. His magic fed on his negative emotions to exert its full power. The psychological burden increased rapidly with every minute. Not to mention, his body was not physically able to handle the stress past a certain point.

He remembered a day when he had managed to stay in Lich mode for 30 minutes. He had collapsed shortly afterward and been bedridden for a week. That was when he stopped experimenting with it and treated it as a last-ditch resort.

Seeing as this goblin was threatening the lives of his parents, now seemed to be the perfect opportunity to show the Goblin Nation exactly who they tried to mess with. The memories flooded his mind as he closed his eyes.

The ambient magic in the room stilled. His eyes shot open, irises glowing brightly. Crackles sounded out as the surrounding magic roiled. An extraordinary pressure emanated from Archer. His aura flared around his body as he glared at Grimjaw.

Flicking his finger, he put both of his parents to sleep and manifested a solid orb shield around them. Making sure they were protected, he brought his full strength to bear before addressing the quivering goblin in front of him.

Grimjaw felt like he had been submerged a thousand leagues underwater as he struggled to breathe. Goblins were very sensitive to magic, more so than wizards. Archer Beaufort's magical power was awe-inspiring.

It was like facing a True Dragon. His life was no longer his own the moment he had threatened the lives of Jean and Sofia Beaufort.

His eyes flickered towards his hands, which were trembling. It was at that moment he realized just how badly he had fucked up. His excessive greed would be his undoing. His only hope was that someone higher up would come to his aid in time.

Archer hissed. "You dare to threaten the lives of my parents you insignificant little insect?! Touch them, and you will experience pain and suffering beyond anything you have ever felt. You will beg for the sweet release of death after I'm done with you. Give me a reason why I shouldn't throw down the gauntlet and end your pathetic existence right now."

Just as he finished speaking, the door burst open, and a bunch of silver armored guards stormed into the room. They formed a line as they pointed their spears at him. He could see some of the spears shaking slightly, as they regarded him with different expressions. The most prominent one among them, however, was fear.

Archer immediately summoned his parents over to him and stood protectively in front of them. Marshaling his magic, sparks of electricity started manifesting in his hands as he prepared to cast the Lightning Storm spell. A devastating high elemental spell that summoned magical lightning to strike the caster's enemies.

The standoff continued for several seconds as both sides waited for each other to make a move. Grimjaw had taken cover behind his desk. The strain on his mind was slowly increasing, but Archer pushed it aside. His family was depending on him being able to get them out in one piece.

That was when he heard a noise coming from the hallway outside. Metallic clanks of armor resounded as Archer noticed the guards outside making way for someone.

The goblins in the room started slowly moving back and separating. Two columns were soon formed on either side of the door. They leaned their spears forward at an angle, creating an archway.

A goblin in glistening golden armor entered the doorway. As it made its way in, the guards by the door clapped their fists over their breastplates and bowed. This meant that the newcomer was a member of goblin royalty.

"What in the Mother's name is going on in here?!"

Archer withdrew his magic and stopped his casting preparation. Giving a shallow bow, he introduced himself. "Greetings. My name is Archer Beaufort. My parents and I came here today to open an account. We were led to Senior Account Manager Grimjaw, who presented us with what he claimed to be a standard contract for opening a new account. I found it to be absurd, with criminally unfair terms.

I pointed out how ridiculous the terms were, and he threatened to imprison my parents if I did not sign it. As he soon found out, threatening me with their lives was a grave mistake."

The goblin narrowed his eyes at the trembling form of Grimjaw peeking over the desk. Turning back to Archer, he spoke. "Well met, Archer Beaufort. My name is Ragnar Goldsword II, Prince of the Nation. I am appalled to hear that one of my Account Managers would resort to such underhanded means to secure a client. May I see the contract he presented you?"

Archer nodded, and wandlessly levitated the contract to Ragnar.

Grabbing the contract, Ragnar started reading through it. The further he read, the angrier he became. By the end, Ragnar was seething with barely contained fury. Taking a deep breath, he addressed Archer.

"Master Beaufort, you have my sincerest apology on behalf of the Nation for this breach of trust. I find the dishonorable conduct of Senior Account Manager Grimjaw unacceptable. Rest assured, he will be punished for his transgressions.

If you could accompany me to my office, we can sort out this situation without resorting to violence. You have my word as Prince that no harm shall befall yourself or your parents within these halls so long as you do not attack us."

Archer nodded. "I agree to accompany you to your office. Let us solve this issue."

He revived his parents as he dispelled the shield around them. Jean and Sofia were out of it as they stumbled upon awakening. Their eyes bulged out as they noticed the heavily armed and intimidating number of guards surrounding them.

Before they could say anything, Archer grabbed their hands. "Maman. Papa. Do not worry. Grimjaw attempted to cheat us and was caught. Prince Ragnar intervened on our behalf. You two were put to sleep to protect you from any magical harm. In fact, Prince Ragnar was just about to arrest Grimjaw."

Ragnar's mouth twitched in amusement as he looked at Archer. "That is correct Monsieur and Mademoiselle Beaufort. Your son showed courage by standing up to Grimjaw's treachery."

He waved his hand. "Guards! Arrest Grimjaw and throw him into a cell. I will deal with him personally after my meeting."

Grimjaw scrambled forward on his knees while begging for mercy. The guards promptly hoisted him up by his arms and dragged him out of the office forcibly. His cries for leniency echoed down the hallway as they slowly faded out.

Ragnar gave them a smile. "I am sorry for the inconvenience. Please accompany me to my office and we will fill out the paperwork to start your new account."

Jean and Sofia didn't know what to think about the situation but took Archer's words at face value. They slowly filed out of the room, following Ragnar to his office.

Archer felt terrible. He hated lying to his parents. Unfortunately, if he told them the truth, it would cause them immense stress. There was no need for them to know how close to death they had come. It would be easier for both them and him if they never found out.

They arrived at Ragnar's office and were guided to their seats. Ragnar seated himself at the desk and snapped his fingers. A few sheets of parchment appeared in his hands.

"This is the actual contract for new account holders. You will find that the terms are much more favorable. I have taken the liberty to add in a couple of clauses that exempt you from the annual vault fee and any transfer and conversion fees for the next three years. Your vault will be upgraded to a high-security one with extra protections and enchantments.

Also, you will be given access to and discounts for services usually provided to an exclusive group of magical families for 3 years. I hope that this demonstrates how sorry we are for the ordeal you had to go through."

Archer chose to not bother reading the contract, preferring to stare down Ragnar. As he was goblin royalty, his honor, as well as the Nation's, was on the line. His parents started reviewing the contract with interest, and from the looks of it, they seemed happy with the changes.

Giving them a couple of minutes, he confirmed that they were satisfied. He turned back to Ragnar. "Do I have your oath that this contract is exactly as you have described? That there are no hidden or subversive clauses that are meant to harm me, my magic, my status, or my family in any way?"

Ragnar returned his gaze steadily. He stayed silent for a couple of seconds before replying. "I swear to the Mother upon my magic that this contract contains the terms as I have described them to Archer Beaufort.

I guarantee that there are no hidden or subversive clauses that harm him, his magic, his status, or his family in any way. So long as he does not knowingly commit a crime against the Nation, he shall be protected as a valued client of Gringotts. This I swear."

Archer replied. "So mote it be."

A tendril of magic came out from both of them. The tendrils met each other and tied themselves together. Archer felt the weight of the oath as both of their magic acknowledged it. Shortly after, the tendrils dissipated.

Without another word, Archer held out his hand. Ragnar handed him a blood quill and turned the pages as Archer initialed and signed on the designated lines. The contract was complete, and Archer became the proud owner of a new high-security vault that would hold the future Beaufort magical fortune.

Jean transferred over the money he had prepared, and the goblins had speedily converted the amount into Galleons, which were directly deposited into the vault. Ragnar handed him a Gringotts money pouch that was protected by a blood-enchantment. Only he could open and withdraw money from it. It would also return to him should it be stolen.

Ragnar gave a toothy smile after the contract was signed. "Thank you for cooperating with us, Monsieur, Mademoiselle, and Master Beaufort. Allow me to escort you to the entrance."

Archer, on the other hand, want to avoid bringing scrutiny onto himself and his family so early on. If a goblin prince was seen personally escorting them out of the bank, there was no telling how the public would react to the news.

Just as his father was about to accept, he interjected. "Actually, Prince Ragnar, we had plans that have been delayed due to the unfortunate situation with Grimjaw. We need to get to our destination quickly, so we will have to bid you farewell."

He gave Prince Ragnar a bow to indicate satisfaction and respect for his handling of the situation. Grabbing his parents, he focused on the entrance to the street and willed his magic to take them there.

Without a sound, the Beaufort family disappeared from Gringotts to Prince Ragnar's utter shock. Within ten seconds, a goblin came sprinting into the room.

"Your Highness, reporting! Something just punched right through our Anti-Apparition Wards without even slowing down! The entire outer ward scheme went down temporarily!"

Ragnar held up a hand. "Do not worry, Quillbiter. I know exactly what it was. Ignore it and keep it to yourself. Tell all others aware of it to do the same."

"Of course, Your Highness."

Ragnar continued. "Send a missive to the Council of Elders and my father. Request an audience regarding a client."

Quillbiter bowed deeply. "It will be done, my prince."

After Quillbiter withdrew, Ragnar stewed in his thoughts as he reflected on the meeting. "Archer Beaufort" he murmured. "Such magnificent potential for a young wizard. You will be an interesting client."

Getting up, he headed towards the dungeons, where Grimjaw awaited him. This whole situation had caused him a lot of undue stress and hurt the Nation's honor, not to mention the loss of profits. A feral smile adorned his face as he approached his destination. Grimjaw would pay dearly for his crimes.

The Beauforts had been transported from Gringotts to the entrance of Place Cachee instantaneously. Unlike standard Side-Along Apparition, Jean and Sofia did not experience any nausea.

Archer had found out that increasing the amount of magic used to Apparate could create a space wide enough to comfortably fit multiple people. It was less like being squeezed through a straw and more like walking side by side down a hallway just wide enough.

The downside was the drain on his magic, as well as the ridiculous amount of control needed to keep the passageway perfectly sized. It also tended to leave a much larger residue of magic.

This meant that it would be easier for pursuers to track his destination. He could only ever use it in Lich mode, as he had yet to perfect his control to the degree necessary.

He had chosen to forcibly break through the wards to make a statement. It was a walk in the park for someone who had apprenticed under the Nation's Master Cursebreaker. Not to mention, the wards on the London branch were by far the oldest and most robust of all the numerous Gringotts branches around the world. This was because it was the very first branch, built during the days of Camelot.

While the wards around Gringotts Paris were secure, they were nowhere near as durable or complex as the ones around Gringotts London.

Reverting back to normal, he could feel his muscles groaning in protest as the exhaustion hit him all at once. By sheer strength of will, he managed to stay standing. He did not want his parents to notice that something was wrong with him.

They decided to start by ordering his uniform first, as it would probably take some time. While it was being made, they would pick up the other items on the list. After purchasing his wand, they retrieve his uniform and have lunch before heading home.

Walking into the clothing store, they saw measuring tape that was moving all by itself, as a quill and parchment on the side were writing suspended in mid-air. Scissors and needles were cutting and stitching up uniforms as the lady in charge walked up to them.

"Welcome to Sabine's Sartorial! How may I help you?"

Sofia answered as she was the fashion guru of the family. So Jean and Archer listened to her expertise when it came to clothes. "I would like three sets of uniforms for my son. He will be attending Beauxbatons this fall."

The lady nodded with a smile on her face. "Of course! Please step up on the platform. Your measurements will be taken, and we can discuss the extra features."

Archer nodded and stepped up on the platform. The lady waved her wand once, and the measuring tape shot into action. It wrapped around several different regions of his body, and a quill scribbled his measurements onto a piece of parchment.

The whole process was completed in only 20 seconds. Stepping down from the platform, Archer saw Sofia talking with Sabine while pointing at a pamphlet.

Sofia chose to have his uniform made of acromantula silk, with several charms added for convenience. Dirt and stain-resistant, wrinkle-resistant, temperature regulated, and others.

Sabine looked ecstatic and complimented his mother's expensive taste. No doubt, she would be making a sizable profit on their order.

After Sofia was satisfied with the final selection, they were told it would take a couple of hours to finish their order. As planned, they went to buy the other items on the list.

They visited Magillard's Plumes and Tomes for his textbooks. Marcel was delighted that Archer was finally beginning his education at Beauxbatons. To celebrate the occasion, he offered them a generous discount, which they graciously accepted. Leaving the bookstore, they headed down the street.

All that was left to buy was a pewter cauldron for his potions class, two sets of ingredients, and his wand.

While he already had a pewter cauldron at home, he wanted to get a new one to use solely at school. They bought the cauldron and went to the apothecary next door.

As a frequent repeat customer, the owner had welcomed him with open arms. Archer told him what he needed, and the man quickly retrieved two sets of ingredients, swearing that they were of higher quality. Only for VIP customers like himself, of course. They were in and out in less than a minute.

Now was when Archer became nervous. A wand was an invaluable tool for magic. Memories of his holly and phoenix feather wand flickered through his mind. That wand was no doubt going to belong to Rose Potter in the future. Then came the images of his basilisk wand. Would his wand be something similar, or completely different?

It was a question that stumped him. Harry was a part of him, so would that influence his wand wood and core? Or was the wand only going to be based solely on Archer Beaufort's attributes, seeing as he was the dominant personality?

He opened the door to Cosme Acajor, the main wand store in Place Cachee. A bell tinkled, signaling their entrance.

"One moment please." They heard someone call out from the back.

Archer looked around as he experienced the inside of the store for the first time. Triangular-prism shaped boxes each encasing wands were stacked up on the shelves. There must have been at least 300 wands that he could see. There were probably more in the back.

A curtain was pushed aside and a short man wearing a leather apron. He looked to be on the older side, with his hair being predominantly grey.

"Hello! Welcome to Cosme Acajor. My name is Alair Lefevre. How can I help you?"

Archer smiled. "Hello. My name is Archer Beaufort. I am here to buy a wand."

Alair flashed a smile. "Certainly. Let us find your partner." As he made his way to a shelf, Archer heard someone else in the back.

"Alair! I have to say these are the finest specimens I have seen in a long time!"

An old man came out of the back, holding a jar that contained what looked like strands of hair. He was tall and gaunt, dressed in a red jacket and white shirt with black pants.

His hair was a shocking white and stood up in all directions. His fingers were long and tapered, and his eyes were almost entirely white.

Archer's pulse accelerated as he recognized Garrick Ollivander. 'You've got to be shitting me! Of all the people I could have possibly met, it had to be him?!'

Harry's first experience with Ollivander at 11 was one he never forgot. He had thought Ollivander was just another eccentric old man. That opinion was unchanged until he commissioned his custom basilisk wand, and realized the truth. Garrick Ollivander was an exceedingly intelligent man who knew a lot more than he let on.

Their gazes met, and something odd occurred. At that moment, Archer felt like his very soul was being viewed under a microscope.

It was as if his every secret was laid bare for Ollivander to see. It was by far the most uncomfortable sensation he had ever experienced. Just as quickly as it came, the feeling disappeared.

'Damn! Did he notice something? My Occlumency was at full strength. Whatever that was, it wasn't a Legilimency attack.'

Archer warily observed Ollivander's reaction. The old man's eyes were shining with childlike glee. Almost like he had found an exciting new toy. It unnerved him quite a bit.

Alair turned around from the boxes he was rifling through and addressed the man. "Now, now, Garrick. You should know that I have nothing but the best when it comes to Veela hair. Unlike England, we actually have colonies to source them from."

Garrick gave a small chuckle. "I never once doubted you my old friend. I am curious though as to what you would like for it."

Alair put his hand on his chin, stroking it absently as he contemplated his price. "Maybe a phoenix feather? I've been meaning to pair one with an exotic wood I received recently."

Garrick's eyes twinkled as he smiled. "Deal."

With the conversation finished, Alair walked to the front with a couple of boxes when Garrick called him. "Alair? Could you ask them if I can observe this young man's search for his partner?"

Alair considered it for a moment before he turned to them. "Do you speak English?"

All three of them nodded, so Ollivander introduced himself. "Greetings Messrs and Madam Beaufort. My name is Garrick Ollivander. I am a wandcrafter from England, and I run a small shop in Magical Britain's shopping district, Diagon Alley. I frequently travel the Continent in search of new materials for my experiments.

As I'm sure you heard, I asked permission to observe your son's wand matching process. Would that be alright with you?"

His parents automatically looked to him as it was his big day. He felt anxious about the interest that Ollivander was showing. Nevertheless, he nodded his acceptance.

Alair clapped his hands. "Excellent! Now let us get started with this one. Vine with dragon heartstring, 9 inches. Slightly flexible."

Archer picked up the wand, but he could feel an unwillingness to connect when he tried to push his magic through it. He shook his head as he handed it back.

"No matter. Very rarely is the first one a match. Let us move on." He returned the wand to the box and took out another one.

"Try this. Elm with wampus cat hair, 11 ¼ inches. Rigid and unyielding."

Archer took the wand out of his grip and tried to push magic through it. Again, it refused to cooperate.

"Well, well, Mr. Beaufort. It seems that we will have fun searching for your partner."

With that proclamation, Alair kept handing out wand after wand for him to try. Every single one refused to work for him, and he was getting slightly frustrated.

After nearly 42 wands, even Alair was at a loss. "Well, Mr. Beaufort, you have tried enough of my wands for me to know that you will not find your partner in my store. I apologize for the inconvenience. I can give you a list of stores where you might have better luck."

It was at this point that Ollivander piped up. As the search had dragged on, he had gotten increasingly excited. "Perhaps, I may be of assistance. It does so happen that I have quite a few materials with me. Maybe Mr. Beaufort just needs to find the right combination."

Archer quashed the immediate refusal that came up. There must be a reason why Ollivander was here at the same time as him. Trusting his instincts, he accepted the offer.

Ollivander walked into the back room and came back holding a suitcase. Flipping it open, he revealed a set of stairs. He gestured to them. "If you will, please follow me into my home away from home."

They all followed him down the stairs and entered what seemed to be a decent-sized apartment. A hallway stretched out in front of them with two doors on either side. An ornate wooden door with a golden handle lay at the end of the corridor.

Ollivander walked forward and guided them to the big wooden door. Turning around, he addressed them. "Young Mr. Beaufort will be the only one accompanying me past this point. I must ask the rest of you to wait here.

The selection of materials is a highly private process. After the wood and core are selected, I will craft Mr. Beaufort's new wand, and you will be able to witness the bonding."

Archer felt a foreboding sense of unease as he heard Ollivander's request. He knew there was some ulterior motive behind Ollivander wanting to get him alone. He was convinced it had to with what he might have seen during their brief initial interaction.

Nonetheless, he desperately needed a wand, and Ollivander was indisputably the best in the world. He was confident enough in his ability to defend his secrets from him. Even if he noticed something off, unless he was told, there was no way for him to find out.

Stepping inside the room, he observed his surroundings. A white marble table sat in the middle of the room, with various instruments strewn across the surface. Tall shelves lined the walls. Wooden blocks and glass jars were everywhere.

He heard the door close behind him and instantly tensed as he prepared his mental defenses. He scanned for other exits and found none. Not ideal, but workable. His mind cranked into overdrive as it started accounting for different variables and scenarios, making slight adjustments to his plan.

Ollivander's voice sounded out behind him. "There is no need to be so defensive Mr. Beaufort. I simply called you in here to talk. No harm will come to you. I can swear an oath to that effect if you so wish."

Hearing him mention an oath, he relaxed slightly. No magical would ever offer to take an oath falsely. Even invoking the offer of one had to be done in good faith. Otherwise, there would be consequences for the invoker.

"There is no need for an oath, Mr. Ollivander. I trust that you will not harm me in any way."

Ollivander smiled brightly. "It's nice to see a young lad with a good head on his shoulders. May I call you Archer?"

Archer nodded. "You may."

"Well then, Archer. I'm sure you must be wondering why I went through such trouble to talk to you. There is a touch of Seer's blood in the Ollivander lineage that allows us to see things no other magical can. Would you like to know what I saw when we first met?"

Archer put in a lot of effort to keep his expression neutral. "I hope it wasn't anything bad, Mr. Ollivader."

Ollivander shook his head. "On the contrary, Archer. I was nearly blinded when I saw you. You have a power that lies deep within you. A power, unlike anything I have ever seen throughout my many years."

Archer couldn't help but be curious at Ollivander's words. "Power? Am I powerful for a wizard?"

Ollivander guffawed. "My boy, powerful is an understatement. You have the potential to surpass all others and reach the very pinnacle of magic. Keep in mind, that is just your potential. It will take time and effort to work your way up to the zenith, and no amount of rituals you perform will provide a shortcut."

Archer lost his composure momentarily. "How did you know?"

Ollivander gave a sly smile as he saw Archer's expression. "Do not worry, young Archer. Only those with the Sight will be able to see the actual traces left on you. Those experienced enough in the Art of Rituals will be also able to notice. Just that you have undergone them, not exactly what you gained, though they could always guess."

"Rituals are considered Dark Magic in Britain, are they not? Why are you not chastising me for my reckless dabbling in such dubious and dangerous magic?"

Ollivander stared at him. "The British Ministry of Magic is not the judge of what is Light and Dark. Rituals have been a part of magical history since Merlin and Morgana walked the Earth. They were the primary and only method of spellcasting in ancient times. At least that was the case before Merlin introduced the idea of using magical foci like his staff. That last bit is pure speculation though, as any written records have long since been lost."

Archer assimilated the information before asking Ollivander: "Will you keep the fact that I have enhanced myself a secret?"

Ollivander flicked his wrist, and his wand shot out of its holster. Raising it into the air, he intoned. "I, Garrick Gervaise Ollivander, swear to keep Archer Beaufort's usage of rituals a secret until such time he releases me from my oath. So I have sworn."

Archer finished. "So mote it be."

The oath settled onto their magic and dissipated. Their conversation halted as they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

Archer cleared his throat. "Thank you very much for that, Mr. Ollivander. Though there was no need for an oath. Your word would have been good enough for me."

"Nonsense, my boy. When it comes to such things, it is best to secure an oath and speak freely, rather than beating around the bush.

Now then, we have spent enough time chatting. Time to do what we came here to do. Find your materials and craft your partner!"

He giddily alighted from the chair and walked briskly over to the nearest shelf. "Come here, Archer. I want you to walk along the wall and find the wood that calls to your magic."

Archer walked over to him and looked at the shelf. "Do I just stick my hand out and close my eyes?"

"There will be no need for that, just release your magic, and it will guide you to your wand wood."

Archer followed his instructions and relaxed the tight leash on his magic. Suddenly, he could feel so many different things. It was like a whole new world had been opened up to him as he expanded his senses.

He allowed himself to relax as he waited for his magic to tell him where to go. After a few seconds, he felt something, a tug on his magic that told him to walk forward.

He walked forward blindly as he ignored everything else. He ventured four shelves ahead before stopping. His magic told him to hold his arm out and call the wood to him, so that's what he did. A long block of black wood settled into his hand as he came out of the trance-like state he had been in.

Ollivander hummed. "Ebony. Not just any ebony, but African Gabon Ebony. The blackest of black woods. This one has quite the backstory. The tree this block came from was splattered with Nundu blood. The blood seeped into the tree and poisoned it, causing it to rot.

This was the lone piece that was able to be harvested from the heart. A wand made from this wood will inherit the nature of a Nundu, fierce and violent. Hopefully, the core will offset the wood and achieve balance."

Archer nodded and got ready for the repeat performance to locate his core. He relaxed with a deep breath and let go of his magic again. The same euphoric feeling washed over him, but this time, he was prepared for it and didn't lose focus.

He waited for the same pull he had felt with the wood. Time ticked by as he patiently waited for a reaction. Nearly 5 minutes later, he finally felt it. However, it was unlike the feeling he got with the wood. He was being pulled in two different directions.

"Mr. Ollivander. For some reason, I'm getting pulls from two directions."

Ollivander gasped lightly. "Two, you say? How marvelous. Trust your magic, Archer. It knows what you need."

Archer nodded and started walking towards the closest one. Stopping in front of the shelf, he reached out and picked up a jar near the back. Keeping it in his hand, he started walking towards the other feeling.

He didn't know how far he had walked when he stopped. The pull as too high for him to reach, so he asked his magic to summon it to him. As the jar settled into his hand, he heard Ollivander sputter.

"My word! To think that feather chose you. Can those two even cooperate with each other? Perhaps with a strong binding agent, it might be possible. I can feel it in my bones, this one will be a masterwork!" Ollivander exclaimed excitedly.

Archer recovered from the trance before observing the cores he had selected. One was a golden feather that was sparking with static electricity. Occasionally, small bolts of lightning would strike the inside of the glass, heating it up in his palm.

The second one looked like an ordinary, pitch-black feather. There didn't seem to be anything special about it. However, judging from Ollivander's reaction, it was undoubtedly a potent core material.

Ollivander came out of his musings with a grin. "Crafting your wand will be a challenge, Mr. Beaufort. Those cores you picked out are the rarest in my entire stock.

The golden feather is a Thunderbird tail feather from a fellow wandcrafter in the Colonies. It is suitable for all types of combat magic, with a leaning towards Transfiguration.

The second core is a mystery to me. It came from an avian magical beast that I could not identify. I distinctly remember the day I received it.

On July 31st, 1979, I was woken up by the alert wards in my store. I went to check out the disturbance when I saw it. Perched on a ceiling beam, was a creature that resembled a large black owl, but its magic clearly told me it was not just any mere owl.

The magic I felt emanating from it was overwhelming. I daresay that I thought my time had come when it turned its gaze towards me.

Fortunately, it was there for another purpose. It shook its body, and a single feather dropped to the floor in front of me. I bent down to pick up the feather, and when I looked up, the owl was gone.

I kept this core with me whenever I traveled, hoping to find someone who could help me identify the magical bird it came from. After all these years, not a single person has been able to tell me anything about it. To think that on this day, you would match with this core."

Ollivander's piercing gaze settled onto him. "I think it is safe to say that we can expect great things from you, Archer Beaufort. Great things indeed."

Archer gulped at the ominous tone Ollivander spoke in. His wand was going to be something special. One that could reach the level of his basilisk wand in potency and compatibility.

The mystery core from the magical bird did make him curious though. Perhaps it was unique to this reality? He wasn't aware of seeing any bird in his previous reality that matched the description Ollivander gave.

"Seeing as these are two powerful cores from multiple creatures, I will need a bit of your blood to act as a binding agent. This will also have the advantage of bonding the wand to you, ensuring its loyalty to you alone."

Archer walked towards the table. "Alright. So long as it is only used to make my wand, I will permit it."

"You have my word that is the only purpose."

Ollivander handed him a clear glass ball. "This is a Blood Draining Orb. Simply channel your magic into it, and it will start filling up with your blood."

Archer received the ball and pushed in some of his magic. A shiver went through him for a moment before he saw a few drops of blood appearing on the bottom of the orb. He kept the flow of magic steady as the amount of blood increased.

The principle for this object was similar to a Healer spelling potions into a patient's stomach. In this case, it was doing the opposite and spelling blood out of him into the orb.

After half a minute, the ball was completely filled up. Archer handed over the ball to Ollivander, who set it onto the table next to the other materials he had chosen. "Alright, Mr. Beaufort. You can go join Alair and your parents outside. This next process is a trade secret. Give me half an hour to finish."

Archer smiled. "Thanks for all your help, Mr. Ollivander. I can't wait to get my wand!"

Ollivander laughed. "Think nothing of it, young Archer. It has been a while since I got the opportunity to craft a wand with such powerful materials. Not many customers are compatible with such exotic cores. I have no doubt that this will be one of my finest creations."

Archer stepped out of the room and met up with his parents. They were curious as to what had happened inside, so he gave them a rundown of how his magic helped him select his wand wood and cores.

Alair was surprised that his wand would have two cores. "No wonder there was no match for you in my store! Dual-core wands are not unheard of, but there are few and far between. Most magicals only need a wand with a single core.

If a magical's core develops past a certain point, they outgrow their wands. Thus, they require a dual-core wand to keep up with their channeling capacity. If they don't upgrade, then the chance of burning out the core increases.

It is rumored that Albus Dumbledore of Britain uses a triple-core wand due to the magnificent spells he used during the British Blood War in the 1970s."

At the mention of Dumbledore, Archer dove behind his Occlumency shields. He had successfully managed to avoid England entirely for 11 years, hopefully, his lucky streak would continue. Still, just mentioning the man got him heated. He owed Albus Dumbledore a lot of pain for all of the shit he went through.

Then again, this Albus Dumbledore was not the one he had experience with. If his counterpart in this world was a girl and his parents were alive, who's to say Dumbledore was still a massively egotistical, greedy, manipulative, goat-buggering bastard. If he was though, then Archer would get really creative with his spells.

The group made their way out of Ollivander's suitcase apartment and waited patiently in the store. After exactly 30 minutes had passed, they heard Ollivander walking up the steps. He held a shiny wooden box in his hands as he exited the suitcase.

Setting it down on the counter, he turned to them. "I have crafted young Mr. Beaufort's wand and it was as challenging as I predicted. It took some time to get the materials to cooperate for me, but in the end, it was your blood that allowed them to work together."

He released the tiny gold clasps on the front and lifted the lid, revealing Archer's new wand. Archer's breath caught in his throat as he saw it.

Laying on a bed of royal purple silk lining, was a black wand that gleamed in the store's lighting. There was an owl motif at the back of the wand, with it ending at a sharp beak. Feather like carvings decorated the grip section, and it tapered down to the tip.

It was so similar to the basilisk wand he remembered. Except this wand was giving him a distinctly different feeling.

Ollivander enjoyed their awestruck expressions for a few seconds before he launched into his explanation. "May I present to you, your new partner, Mr. Beaufort. 13 and 1/7 inches long. Made from African Gabon Ebony exposed to Nundu blood. Thunderbird tail feather along with a mystery feather from another magical bird.

This is a warrior's wand. Judging by the ebony and Thunderbird feather combination, this wand will be excellent for all types of combat magics both Light and Dark, with a particular specialty towards Transfiguration. I am not aware of the effects of the mystery feather on certain types of magic, but I have no doubt you will find out in due time."

Archer gasped. "It's beautiful, Mr. Ollivander."

Ollivander chuckled. "That it is, Archer. Well then, go on, give it a wave."

Archer reached out and grabbed the wand. As soon as he did, he felt his magic reach out to it. He gave a small wave as he heard a click inside his very being. Suddenly, black and gold sparks shot out of the tip. The roar of a Nundu, screech of a Thunderbird, and a hoot that shook their souls sounded out inside the store.

After the bonding, no one spoke for a minute. They were still reeling from their experience. It was Ollivander that broke the silence with a loud cackle. "Extraordinary! Simply marvelous! Never have I had the privilege of seeing such a unique bonding before. The very echoes of the animals were present, and all of them approved of you. To be able to get their approval, you are destined for great things, Archer Beaufort."

Archer kept his gaze on his wand as he spoke. "How much for the wand, Mr. Ollivander?"

"Not a single Knut, my boy. You provided me a unique challenge. It was a joy to craft yet another masterwork of my lifetime. All I ask is that you take good care of it, and if you ever find out about the mystery core, please tell me.

I have also included one of my deluxe wrist holsters to carry it in. I couldn't possibly have you carrying such a magnificent wand in your pocket."

Archer nodded. "You've got yourself a deal. I promise to take good care of it and tell you if I find out about the core."

The Beauforts exited the store, remarking in wonder. They went back to Sabine's to pick up their order and had lunch outside before heading home. All the way on the ride home, Archer was practicing drawing his wand from the holster. While Ollivander had still made him feel just as uncomfortable as he remembered, there was something odd about their encounter.

The bird that donated the feather gave it Ollivander on July 31st, 1979. That happened to be Archer Beaufort's birthday, from what the orphanage matron had told him. Was it a coincidence? Or was there some higher power at work here?

'Whatever the case, I've finally gotten my wand. Time to take things up a notch and get back to training. The mystery of the owl can wait.'

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So I gave a little bit of a time skip where Archer starts building his future skill set. In the previous iteration, I made him way too unrealistic, so I toned down some of his skills to save them for later. Archer is smart, but that's due to a combination of prior memories and Occlumency for information recall. He's not a genius with a 200+ IQ, just a smart boy with certain advantages that give him an edge when it comes to standardized education and tests.

I will expand a little more on the years of the war and what Harry learned in future chapters. Suffice to say, he's not some sort of magical Gary Stu. He learned exactly what was needed for him to kill his enemies. Nothing more, nothing less. The sudden change in the spellcasting method will have a larger effect as he develops during his years at Beauxbatons.

He will be unusually powerful for his age, mainly due to the rituals. He will specialize in Transfiguration, Charms, and Runes. This time, I will make the timeline of his achievements more believable instead of making him a Master at 12 or 13. His Mastery projects will be less exaggerated, but recognized all the same as worthy of a Mastery. He will kick ass in the dueling stage again.

His personality is something I'm still considering. I don't want to write him the same way as last time, mainly because the entire basis of the character has been fundamentally changed. Next chapter will go through his first year at Beauxbatons, and then switch over to another main character's POV.

I want to try and incorporate some detailed magical theory this time, as I am attempting to expand the universe and lay down a foundation for events that have yet to occur. It will take some time to plan out, but I think you will enjoy my take on the wonders of magic.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for reading, and see you next time!


	4. The Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

The next month flew by as the day of his departure drew closer. With the magic containment field in his room, he was able to start practicing his wand-based control exercises. Ironically, it turned out to be much harder than his wandless control.

Two of the three creatures that made up his wand were known to be fiercely protective and territorial. His wand had inherited their mercurial temperaments in spades. He nearly blinded himself when he attempted the Wand-Lighting Charm for the first time.

His constant training in wandless magic had been his undoing, as he was long since used to overpowering his spells to get them to work. Now that he had a highly compatible focus with two powerful cores, his control suffered greatly.

Another problem that cropped up was occasional cases of unintentional wandless magic. Instead of pushing magic into his wand, he would instinctively let it flow into his hand. It took him almost a week to train himself out of the habit, and make his wand the default path for his magic to flow.

His attempts at some of the more complex charms that relied on sheer power were all successful. Sadly, anything spell that required control was off the table for the time being.

He faced the opposite in Transfiguration. He could power through any of the first two years of material, but anything past that just wouldn't work. No matter how much magic he used, the Transfiguration wouldn't hold. The items would revert to normal.

It was frustrating for him to be failing at things so elementary to him. He resolved to take it up with the Transfiguration professor once classes started. Transfiguration had always been his favorite field of magic. He hoped that he hadn't lost the innate talent he had back in his previous reality.

The day finally came, as a tearful Sofia hugged him goodbye in the dining room. Jean stood beside her with glistening eyes.

She had been fussing over him for the last half an hour before the portkey activated. "Are you sure you packed everything, Archer? Did you take all the clothes I picked out? All your school supplies are packed, right?"

Archer laughed. "Maman. Relax. I made sure to triple- check my suitcase before coming down for lunch. Besides, there are owl order forms and catalogs at the school. If I need anything extra, I'll just send in an order form."

Sofia smiled. "I know. You've always been such a responsible boy. I can't help it! My darling angel is going so far away for so many months." She hiccuped as she sobbed.

Archer grabbed her hands and held them tight. "Don't worry, Maman. I'll write to you both every week without fail. I'm sure you'd also like to see some pictures of the school, so I'll try and include some. Hopefully, I will make a lot of good friends."

Jean chuckled. "You've been a quiet child from the day we adopted you, Archer. You are an amazing, kindhearted young man, my boy. I'm sure you will have no problem making friends."

The grandfather clock chimed 5 times, and the portkey on the table glowed briefly. It was now active and waiting for him to state the activation phrase. Archer walked forward and gave Jean and Sofia each a tight hug.

"I'll miss you both so much. I promise to write. Don't worry, we'll see each other during the winter holiday."

His parents retreated to a safe distance and watched as he grabbed the portkey. Sofia was quietly sobbing while Jean gave her a one-armed hug.

Archer turned to them and waved. "Bye-bye, Maman. Papa. I'll see you in a couple of months."

They both smiled and waved back at him. With that, he spoke the activation phrase. "History, Tradition, and Elegance."

The moment the last syllable was spoken, he felt the tugging sensation at his lower back. The world twisted and warped around him as he was whisked to his destination. He found himself falling through the air as he noticed the picturesque mountains in the background.

The wind whistled in his ears as he saw the ground coming closer. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and relaxed his knees. Within seconds, he felt a brief moment of disorientation before his feet hit the ground. By keeping his knees relaxed, they absorbed the impact, and he remained standing.

Opening his eyes, he saw that he was in the middle of a large group of kids. They were all spaced 5 feet apart, most likely because the portkey programmers had made sure to give plenty of space if someone came in hot.

His idea was proven correct when a boy his age landed next to him in a heap. His trunk had gone flying and burst open, scattering his things onto the ground. He must have been a Muggleborn, judging by the deer in the headlights look he had.

'Thank Merlin, I was able to remember the portkey trick. It would have been very embarrassing if I landed like that kid.'

He could already see a few children pointing and laughing at the poor boy. He had forgotten how cruel children could be to each other. Deciding to take pity on him, Archer walked over and started helping him pack his stuff.

The boy looked lost. It was as if this was the first time someone had offered such kindness. Archer recognized the expression from a mile away. The boy had undoubtedly been bullied from a young age.

The natural defensive stance, the slump of his shoulders, his gaze glued to the floor. Small clues, but they all spoke towards a big problem. The bullies at his previous school probably decided to pick on the weak, nerdy-looking kid. The boy must have faced constant embarrassment in front of his peers to be this desensitized to it.

Packing the last of the items into the trunk, he handed it to the boy. "Are you okay? That was a pretty rough landing. I'm positive I managed to get everything that fell, but you should check again, just in case I missed something."

The boy nodded and received his trunk. "Thank you."

Archer nodded and was about to return to his spot when he stopped. 'Eh. What the hell.'

He turned around and stuck out his hand. "Hi. My name is Archer Beaufort. What's yours?"

The boy blinked. He gave a shy smile as he grabbed Archer's outstretched hand. "Louis. Louis Dreyfus. A pleasure to meet you."

They shook hands. Archer didn't know what else to say, seeing as Louis didn't seem willing to start a conversation. He decided to give a quick goodbye before returning to his spot.

It had been nearly 20 minutes since he arrived, and new arrivals had stopped. A group of older students and a professor walked in through the main doors and called for their attention.

"Good evening to you all. My name is Simon Fontaine, and I am the Head of the Charms Department here at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

The boys and girls behind me are the 5th, 6th, and 7th-year Prefects. They will be there to guide you around campus, give directions, and offer academic advice. They will also be your primary points of contact should you face any issues during your time here.

Here at Beauxbatons, you are separated by year. Each year has its own designated floor of the palace in the East Wing. These are where your dormitories and the associated Common Rooms are located.

Now, please leave your luggage here and follow us. We will be taking a tour across our lovely campus. Try to keep up."

After finishing his speech, Professor Fontaine marched out of the room with the prefects in tow. The group of first-years all rushed to keep up. Archer stuck to the back of the group as he leisurely sauntered while viewing the sights.

The palace looked beautiful as it gleamed under the evening sun. It was like a jewel hidden deep within the Pyrenees.

The palace resembled a traditional French-Normandy style chateau, albeit several stories tall. Every door was ornate and laden with gold and silver fixtures, while the windows were enchanted to always be crystal clear. It truly lived up to its reputation as the most picturesque magical school in the world. Everything about it screamed wealth and elegance.

The tour group went all around the grounds. They visited the greenhouse, the stables, and the Quidditch pitch. Beautiful white marble fountains spewing crystal clear water were spread out across campus.

Apparently, there was no official Beauxbatons team. Pickup games were scheduled by the Quidditch Club, but that was it.

No official matches or tournaments were held by the school. It was a little disappointing, but there wasn't anything Archer could do about it.

He decided to check out the Quidditch club and get in on a couple of games. It wouldn't do to lose his flying skills.

'Hmm. I need a broom to play. Guess I'll order the latest Cleansweep model. The Nimbus 2001 only comes out in the summer of next year.'

That made him stop short. The release of certain memorable products seemed to be following the same schedule as his old world. He could potentially make a killing with timely investments. The goblins would also appreciate someone who made them money.

'Well there's an idea. Though there's plenty of time in the future to make money. Not that I really have to worry about it.'

It was at times like these he was thankful for being adopted by a wealthy family.

He kept pace with the group as they marveled at the beauty of the palace interior. Roman-style columns lined the walls of the main entrance, with sparkling silver embellishments and polished marble floors. It honestly looked more like a five-star resort than a school.

Fontaine and the prefects took them to the Main Hall, the Dining Chamber, and ended the tour in the first year Common Room.

"Welcome to your Common Room. Here you will be able to interact with your peers, and there are designated areas for playing games and quiet study.

I encourage all of you to come here often and mingle with your fellow classmates. After all, you will be accompanying each other for 7 years. Forging friendships will make your time at school all the better.

Your dormitories are through those doors at the end of the hall. You have been assigned rooms of 4 people each.

All the doors have plates with names on them. Once you find the door that has yours, tap your wand onto the plate, and it will register your magical signature. After that, the door will automatically open for you for the rest of the year. You will find your luggage waiting for you inside.

Remember to be at the Dining Chamber by 7PM in full uniform for the Welcoming Feast. Once again, welcome to Beauxbatons. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask a Prefect."

Archer waited for them to leave before looking over the kids he would be learning with. Most of them seemed at home and comfortable. That meant that they were either from magical families or had siblings who attended or are attending the school.

He heard a disturbance, and his eyes flicked over to the origin. A group of children was surrounding Louis, the Muggleborn boy he had helped earlier. They seemed to be poking fun at him with their imitations of his enthusiastic entrance.

Louis was simply standing there with a distressed look on his face. His cheeks were blazing, and he seemed to be drawing in on himself, desperate to avoid attracting attention.

The main antagonizer was a boy with bright blonde hair and luxurious silk robes. His friends were also wearing similar quality clothing that indicated their status and wealth. He even saw an Heir ring on the blonde.

'Wonderful. My first day at Beauxbatons and I already witness the French Malfoy and his pureblood posse bullying a Muggleborn.'

The boys started pushing Louis around a little as they tried to elicit a reaction from him. Louis stayed stock still and apparently did not want to engage with them. This didn't sit well with the bullies, as they got increasingly forceful in their attempts.

The blond boy smirked and withdrew his wand. With a flourish, he cast a Body-Bind Curse at Louis. The boy's arms snapped to his side as he fell, stiff as a board. His eyes were wildly moving around as he attempted to break out of it.

The pureblood boys all started laughing and joking with the blonde as victoriously smirked. Archer had enough, so he started making his way over. That was when he heard the boy talking to Louis.

"See that, mudblood? I don't know how you cheated to get into this prestigious academy, but I hope you learned your place in our world. You will never be better at magic than those of pure blood and noble birth."

Archer walked up and stood in front of Louis as he addressed the blonde. "I think that's quite enough. He is new to the magical world. There is no need to degrade and insult him like that."

Without even looking, his wand effortlessly slid into his hand as he cast a silent _Finite_ on Louis. Louis' body jerked as he found himself free. He quickly stood up and hid behind Archer.

The blonde sneered. "Who are you to be interfering in my business?"

Archer smiled. "Greetings. My name is Archer Beaufort. May I have your name?"

"Florian Royard, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Royard."

'Great. Another self-absorbed pureblood twat to deal with.' Archer thought while maintaining his smile.

"Charmed. I would ask you to please refrain from insulting or attacking Louis. He will be our classmate for the next 7 years, after all. There is no need to resort to violence to make a point."

Florian glowered at him before smirking. "Beaufort. There are no pureblood French magical families by that name. Sticking up for a fellow mudblood are you?"

Archer's mouth tightened. "Such crass language is unbecoming of a person of your station. Even if I am, as you call me, a mudblood, we are all here to learn magic.

We are students at this school, and regardless of our blood status, we will all be taught equally. I am sure such views will not be tolerated by the professors."

Florian frowned as he heard his words. For a split second, Archer thought he would get into a fight on his first day. Moments later, Florian laughed.

"You're mistaken if you think everyone will feel the same way as you. You'll soon learn that some are born better than others. While the professors may not appreciate heritage, the rest of our society does.

Know your betters, Beaufort, and maybe you can be my servant once we graduate. After all, there's no way a filthy mudblood like you would ever amount to anything. Let's go, I'm bored."

Florian walked away with his gaggle of sycophants as Archer blinked in bewilderment. 'That little shit actually thinks he's my better? Oh I can't wait for classes to start. Let's see how much better he is when I rub my perfect grades in his stupid face.'

A fire had been lit deep inside him. Florian Royard was going to get the shock of his life when Archer blew him out of the water. He had contemplated the merits of showcasing his advanced knowledge of magic. While he would have preferred to keep his talent hidden, he understood the need to cement a reputation.

Everyone in the magical world appreciated talent. Talented wizards were able to sway others to their side easier than ordinary ones. Now he truly understood and acknowledged the purpose behind Slughorn's Slug Club.

He had been invited solely based on the fact that he was "The Boy Who Lived." It wasn't his talent with potions, which he only showed after the first couple of lessons. If he could establish something similar and collect talented and well-connected friends, it would accelerate his plans.

As Archer was lost in thought, he felt a tug on his shirt. Turning around, he found Louis on the verge of crying. He immediately started comforting him. "There there, Louis. Don't listen to a word he says. We have all been blessed with magic. While he might have grown up with it, if you apply yourself and learn, you can match him in skill."

Louis sniffled. "Thank you for helping me. I don't know why that boy was so mean. He was just like all the others. They see me as weak. An easy target."

Archer put his hand on Louis' shoulder. "Then get strong, Louis. While people who hold Florian's bigoted views are in the minority, they hold a lot of influence in our world. These kinds of people exist everywhere. All you have to do is ignore them and work hard. Prove them wrong by letting your talent speak for itself."

Louis sighed. "I'm not talented, Archer. I don't even know how I got into Beauxbatons. A couple of kids from my previous school also had magic, but they only got sent letters from smaller magical schools. I was the only one who came here, and I don't even know why."

"Louis. The fact that you got an acceptance letter to Beauxbatons means you are powerful enough to attend. You are talented, even if you don't know it yet."

Louis gave a small smile. "Thank you, Archer. You're the first person who ever helped me like that. Would... Would you like to be friends?"

The way he asked the innocent question broke Archer's heart. It reminded him of what he went through growing up. Not many children his age liked him. He was the one they were compared to by their parents. Hence, they went out of their way to isolate him.

After 4 disastrous playdates, his mother decided to stop trying to introduce him to other children his age. It worked out for the best, seeing as he was unable to connect with others very well. He was an old soul... literally.

The only reason he was making friends in Beauxbatons was the possible benefit they could bring him. It sounded cruel, but that was the nature of the magical world, regardless of country. Relationships were all about quid pro quo. Without any advantages, there was no point in having friends.

It took him a long time to accept reality. What had friends ever done for him? It took an apocalyptic catastrophe for magicals to get their heads out of their asses and band together. Even then, their cooperation was tenuous at best. They were all allies or comrades facing the same struggle for survival, they were not friends.

A small part of him rejected such a bleak outlook, though. It reminded him of the love he shared with Fleur, Tonks, Daphne, Susan, and Luna. His relationship with Neville, Gellert, and Julius that went beyond that of allies. They had been his friends and brothers in arms. People he would willingly give up his life for.

He shook his head at the thought. That life was gone along with them. Their counterparts in this world would not be the same men he had fought with. Hell, he might never even meet them for all he knew.

He sure as hell wasn't going to allow Voldemort to summon fucking demons again, that was for sure. With nothing to unite all magicals, who's to say that this world's Gellert and Julius wouldn't rot away in Nurmengard?

He cleared his mind as he retreated behind his Occlumency barriers. Thinking such thoughts at this moment wasn't an option.

Looking at Louis' nervous expression, he gently smiled. "I would love to be your friend Louis. If you ever need help, all you have to do is ask."

Louis lit up as he heard the reply. "Thanks, Archer! I'm sure we'll get along well!"

Archer chuckled. "Of course. Now, would you like to come with me to locate our dorms?"

Louis nodded and started walking towards the dorms. Archer followed him and kept an eye out for the plate with his name on it. He quickly noticed that the boys were all on the right side of the hall while girls were on the left. Moving forward at a sedate pace, he scanned the numerous nameplates.

After walking past nearly 9 doors, he finally saw his name. Coincidentally, Louis' name was right next to his, meaning they would be roommates.

'Well isn't this serendipitous.' Archer thought as Louis was excitedly bouncing on his feet.

"I can't believe we are roommates, Archer! This must be a sign that we will be great friends!"

Louis quickly tapped his nameplate with his wand. It glowed briefly before the door opened with a click. Archer did the same for his nameplate, and they walked into the room together.

The first thing that surprised them was the size. It was almost as big as an apartment, with private bathrooms for each occupant. Archer was not expecting such a grand setup but was happy with not having to share a bathroom.

They made small talk while waiting for their roommates to arrive. 10 minutes later, they heard the door lock click as two boys entered the room. The one in front had olive skin and black hair. The one behind him had light brown, slightly tanned skin with dark brown hair.

The boy in front walked forward with his hand outstretched. "You must be our new roommates. My name is Antonio Rossi, but you can call me Tony. This is Javier Diaz, our other roommate. We met in the Common Room a few minutes ago."

Archer stood up, took Tony's hand, and shook it. "Nice to meet you both. My name is Archer Beaufort, but you can call me Archer. The boy next to me is Louis Dreyfus. We met each other at the portkey arrival area."

Retrieving his hand from Antonio, Archer extended it towards Javier. Javier accepted the gesture with a warm smile on his face. "It's great to meet you, Archer, Louis."

They both seemed to be decent kids. However, he knew better than to judge on first appearances. The most crucial metric of their future relationship was based on one thing: their reaction to the knowledge of Louis being a Muggleborn. If they ended up acting like Florian, then he would have to step in and adjust their attitudes early on.

Louis was shyly introducing himself to Antonio when the topic came up. Antonio was giving him background about his family back in Italy when he asked Louis about his family.

After his experience with Florian, Louis seemed afraid of talking about his blood status. Seemingly lost, he looked towards Archer. Archer gave him a smile and nodded. Getting reassurance, Louis told Antonio about him being a non-magical born wizard.

The room was quiet for a second as Archer waited for the two's reaction. Antonio broke the silence. "Wow! You're a non-magical born wizard and were offered a place at Beauxbatons?! You must be super strong if that's the case!"

Javier also added in his two Knuts. "I agree. That is quite impressive, Louis. I have a few friends who are non-magical born and none of them were qualified to get the offer letter."

Louis shrunk in on himself as he blushed under their compliments. Poor boy must not have gotten too many if this was his reaction. Archer stepped in to save him. "That's what I keep telling him. Sadly, he witnessed firsthand the bigotry entrenched in French Magical Society. It is why he was nervous to tell you both about him being non-magical born."

Antonio and Javier both nodded solemnly. Antonio turned to Louis. "Don't worry, Louis. We were not raised to believe that kind of garbage. People like that are in every country, but what they say isn't true. You can count on us to back you up if anyone insults you like that."

Louis tearfully nodded. "Thank you all. I never thought that I would be able to make such amazing friends on my first day here."

Knowing that the Welcome Feast was only 20 minutes away, they decided to get dressed in their uniforms. The official full uniform of Beauxbatons consisted of a powder blue dress shirt with charcoal trousers and a dark blue silk bolo tie with silver tips. A slightly darker blue waistcoat with navy lining provided a nice contrast to the ensemble. The shoes were dual-tone black and blue leather cap toe oxfords. The uniform was completed with a powder blue overcoat with extra material draped over the shoulders.

Fortunately for them, the only times when they would have to get dressed in full uniform were for specific feasts and official events. Otherwise, they would wear a semi-formal style that took away the coats and ties.

Once they were all ready, they cast a couple of hygiene charms and made their way to the Dining Chamber. They spotted a large crowd of their classmates heading there, so they followed along. Entering the Dining Chamber, they were awestruck by the surroundings.

Crystalline statues lined the walls as they heard the calming sounds of a choir of Wood Nymphs. Floating glass chandeliers holding candles provided warm lighting across the room. The tables were long and made of a white wood held up by legs carved from ivory. Each student had an individual high backed chair with formal place settings.

There were seven long tables, one for each year. One of the upper-year Prefects came up to them and guided them to the table on the far right. They sat down across from each other, with Louis and Archer on one side, and Antonio and Javier on the other.

They remarked on the beauty of the Dining Chamber until the clock struck 7. The doors started to close, and the lighting dimmed slightly. After a few seconds, the sound of a knife tapping on a glass resounded throughout the hall. Instantly, nearly all the chatter quietened.

Olympe Maxime, the half-giant Headmistress of Beauxbatons, stood up from her chair and cleared her throat before starting her speech.

"Good evening, everyone. To all of our new students, welcome to the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. To those returning, welcome back. My name is Olympe Maxime, and I am your Headmistress.

Beauxbatons has a proud and noble history of educating some of the most influential figures of the last few centuries. We strive to instill in our students the importance of culture, knowledge, and respect for magic.

You will be taught by some of the finest witches and wizards in the world. All of them are world-renowned masters in their respective fields, who will work with you to unearth your potential. We pride ourselves on our academic excellence, being ranked 2nd place in the world for scores on the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams.

I expect all of you to aspire to great things, and work with your professors and the many friends you will make during your years at our institution to achieve your dreams.

That being said, we have a strict policy against bullying and unsanctioned dueling. We also have a no-tolerance policy on any discrimination based on race, gender, class, and the like. You are all here to learn, and I expect nothing but the utmost respect for members of our staff and your fellow students. Failure to comply with this rule will be met with harsh punishment. You have been warned.

With that out of the way, let the feast begin!"

Various vessels containing different types of food simultaneously appeared once she finished her speech. Archer could see a large variety of food across the table. Some of them were French, others were traditional dishes from Spain, Italy, Germany, and the other European countries. He started with a refreshing salad and worked his way through the meal, trying a little bit of everything.

Once he had enjoyed a hearty dinner with his roommates, they made their way back to their dorm. After changing into their nightclothes, they talked for a while before retiring for the night.

Tomorrow was the first day of classes, and Archer couldn't wait to start learning. While he was confident in his ability to perform the spells, he had questions that could only be answered by the professors. He drifted off into the realm of Morpheus, dreaming of a Voldemort-free future.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hello Everyone,

This chapter is a little shorter than usual, mainly because work has really picked up this last week. I got assigned to a major project within my company that is taking up a lot of my time. I thought I would have time to write over the weekend, only to be stuck working to make our deadline.

This chapter introduces a couple of recurring characters who will accompany Archer through his journey in Beauxbatons. They will stick in the background for the most part, but some interactions will influence Archer's development and growth as a person. Not gonna spoil anything.

The response to the rewrite has been overwhelmingly positive, so I feel that I made the right decision. Keep in mind that while I have a general plot, there are some things that I need to iron out the details of. Things can and will change if I deem it necessary. I will make it a point to inform you guys if I make any retroactive changes due to wanting to go a certain direction.

I'm still undecided on whether to keep updating this story or start fresh with no preconceived notions due to reviews of the old version. Hopefully I'll figure it out by the end of July and let you all know about it.

Other than that, thank you for all your support. I can't wait to write more about Archer and his time at Beauxbatons. Rest assured, there will be a time-skip in the near future to get us to the official "start" of the story.

I will be taking some elements from my previous iteration of the story, but will be radically changing other aspects. Suffice to say, you will get a much more expanded view of the British Ministry of Magic, and the history and functioning of the Wizengamot.

I hope you all enjoy what I have planned. I ask that you trust that I know where I want my story to go. Don't worry, all your questions will be answered (Ok, maybe not all of them, but you get the idea).

Stay Safe and Read On,

AltruousAlliterator


	5. The Trouble With Transfiguration

**AN: **

Hey guys! I'm so sorry for not updating last week. I got really busy with the project and had barely any time to write. I took my time with this chapter as I wanted to start building the world and introducing some new concepts. It was hard to do this in a natural manner, so it turned into a bit of an info dump. Sadly, with the limited time I had to really refine it compared to my other chapters, this is the best I could do. Without further ado, let's jump back into the story!

* * *

"Harry Potter" - Dialogue

'Harry Potter' - Thoughts

_"Harry Potter" -_ Spells

The next morning, he woke up early. After going through his morning routine, he warmed up with some stretches and started a simple exercise routine. It was a combination of push-ups, sit-ups, dips, squats, and jumping jacks. While the regimen not as intense as he was used to, he was limited by the amount of space he had in his dorm.

'I need to ask about curfew timings and where I can go exercise. Would they have a gym I could use? That would be convenient.'

While pondering on this, he woke up his roommates as he went to take a shower. The bathroom also had a decent sized walk-in closet. It was nice to be able to dress in private, something he hadn't expected being able to do with 3 other boys rooming with him.

Exiting the bathroom, he saw that Louis, Tony, and Javier were all inside their own bathrooms. He could hear rushing water, so he decided to wait for them. He picked up a random book on Charms and started reading.

A while later, his roommates were ready to leave, so they made their way to the Dining Hall for breakfast. It looked a lot less formal from last night, as they sat down and started stacking their plates with various breakfast foods.

They conversed about which subjects they were interested in and what they were most worried about. Archer chose to downplay his confidence a bit, not wanting to come off as arrogant. It didn't matter if he had every right to be, based on his extensive knowledge of magic.

While they were eating, a professor approached them with a few sheets of parchment in hand. "Good morning, students. I have your schedules with me. What are your names?"

They all replied with their names, and Desjardin nodded. He took out his wand and tapped a piece of parchment while saying Tony's name. Ink bloomed from the center of the page as it slowly spread and formed a schedule. Desjardins presented the now filled sheet of parchment to a slack jawed Tony.

"Here is your schedule for this year. Should you ever get lost, tap the back of the parchment with your wand and say 'directions' and your destination. It will form a map that will show your position and guide you to your classroom."

Archer smiled. That was a great idea. No one would be able to use getting lost as an excuse for being late to class.

He repeated the same procedure for each of them and left once they assured him that they understood the directions. Reviewing his schedule, Archer was surprised.

It was surprisingly well balanced, with all his core classes spaced out across the week. That meant he wouldn't be overwhelmed by the homework. The core classes for Beauxbatons were Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, History, and Etiquette. Alongside the core classes, they also had Herbology, Astronomy, and Magical Theory.

From his research, this was the standard curriculum for all first and second years. When they reached their third year, Etiquette would be switched out for another core subject of their choosing. They could also choose to replace Herbology and Astronomy with two other electives. Magical Theory classes would last until their 3rd year, after which, they could replace it with another magical elective.

One thing he noticed was the abundance of minor electives. These were courses that were only a semester-long with a diverse catalog of subjects. The Arts program had a fantastic range of courses that students could enjoy.

They offered different styles of dance, Painting, Photography, and Theatre. However, the arts weren't the only field represented. There were courses in Economics, Accounting, Business, Law, Wandless Magic, Mind Magic, Elemental Magic, and many others.

Archer was genuinely excited by the offerings and couldn't wait to take a few of them. He was astounded that so many different courses were available for him to take. Hogwarts had never had the kind of variety Beauxbatons had. Although that was mainly his old world's Hogwarts. Who knew whether the same held true for the one in this world?

That could wait, seeing as they could only be taken once he started his third year. He examined his schedule before starting to compare it to that of his roommates. They were all identical, so they rejoiced in the fact that they would all be learning together in class.

Finishing their breakfast, they made their way to the first class of the day. Charms. Entering the room, they noticed that their teacher was Professor Desjardins. He smiled and gestured for them to take a seat.

"Hello, boys. The seating is open, so feel free to sit wherever."

They greeted him and sat down in the middle of the hall. They chatted while taking out their supplies to take notes. As they talked, groups of students started filtering into the room.

Within 10 minutes, all the seats in the classroom were occupied. The chatter continued until Professor Desjardin stepped up onto the podium at the front of the class and cleared his throat. That got everyone's attention as they stopped talking and gave him their undivided attention.

"Good morning, class! My name is Henri Desjardin, but you all will be calling me Professor Desjardin during your time at Beauxbatons. I was once a student of this institution and have sat in the very seats you occupy in this room.

After graduating, I apprenticed under Professor Fontaine, the world-renowned Head of our Charms Department. After 2 years of hard work, I presented my Mastery Thesis to the Charms Masters Guild panel at the ICW and was awarded my Charms Mastery.

Since then, I participated in the dueling circuit for 3 years and went on to win the World Championship once. After retiring as a duelist, Professor Fontaine was kind enough to offer me the position of Charms Professor for the 1st through 3rd years.

This will be my 4th year teaching, and I think that we will be having a lot of fun learning about the wonders of Charms together. Let me take attendance, and then our journey shall begin!"

He was upbeat and enthusiastic. He also had a certain magnetism that drew people in and kept them on the edge of their seats. Already Archer knew he was going to enjoy learning from Professor Desjardin. Regardless of how far ahead he was.

Desjardin took attendance quickly and started the lesson. It was all traditional first lesson material. A mix of safety and warnings to be careful with a hint of basic magical theory and how it related to Charms. While it would have typically been a yawn-inducing affair for him, Archer found that Desjardin's excitement and passion for Charms affected him as well.

All in all, the lesson had been a great start of the year. The next class was Transfiguration, and Archer was excited. This was his bread and butter. The field of magic that he excelled in, especially when it came to applying it in combat.

His disappointment at not being able to cast third-year spells had been gnawing at him for a while. He had never had an issue before, no matter how difficult some of the theory behind it was. He had always counted on his magic and imagination to pull him through whenever he needed to make something happen. They had never failed him until now.

There was something awry with the way Transfiguration worked in this world. It was fundamentally different, much like the method of spellcasting.

He had several theories, but nothing he could bounce off anyone until school started. He had done his due diligence during summer and researched his professor. It was one of the reasons for his eagerness.

Laura Thebault was a well-known prodigy of Transfiguration. She had graduated from the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the top of her class. Straight out of school, she had caught the attention of the famous Transfiguration Grandmaster Johan Blomqvist.

Apprenticing under him for a single year, she had presented a revolutionary thesis on the theoretical boundaries of elemental conjuration. The Transfiguration Masters panel had awarded her a Mastery almost immediately after her presentation. Beauxbatons had snapped her up as a professor shortly after the contents of her thesis had been revealed.

She specialized in Pure Transfiguration, meaning that most of her work was mainly rooted in theory and not practical applications. Therefore, she was the perfect person to consult regarding his problem. With her deep understanding of the fundamental nature of Transfiguration, the chances were good that she could help him figure out what was going wrong.

Entering the classroom, they found that the layout was nearly identical to the Charms classroom. Archer noticed that the teacher wasn't in the room, so he guided his friends to sit down near the front of the class. Transfiguration was his favorite subject, and it didn't hurt to show enthusiasm when he needed to ask her for help.

Students filtered in for the next 10 minutes before the doors automatically closed at the start of the lesson. The side door at the front of the room opened, and in walked Laura Thebault.

Her youthful looks were the first thing he noticed. If he hadn't researched her beforehand, he would have thought she was the teacher's assistant. She certainly wouldn't look out of place among the 7th years at Beauxbatons. The fact that she had accomplished so much at her age spoke of her talent in her field.

Setting her folder down, she walked to the center of the podium and scanned the room. "Hello, class. My name is Professor Laura Thebault, and I will be your Transfiguration professor for the next 3 years.

It seems that everyone is here on time. That's good because the doors will close automatically at the starting time. Anyone without an official note that excuses them will not be able to open them.

The reason for this arrangement is simple. By showing up on time for class, you communicate to me that you respect my time. In return, all of you shall have my undivided attention and guidance when learning about the art of Transfiguration.

At the beginning of every class, we will take attendance. After that, I will lecture about the topic we will be learning for the day. Following the lecture, we will proceed to the practical portion of the class. Any questions?"

Her direct and no-nonsense way of speaking had intimidated some of the students. He saw traces of anxiety and fear from the looks his friends were giving each other. Seeing no one raising their hands, he decided to be the courageous one.

Professor Thebault looked at him. "Yes, Mr...?"

Archer smiled. "Beaufort, Professor Thebault. Archer Beaufort. I had a question regarding the practical portion of the class. If we aren't successful in completing the in-class assignment, where can we practice completing it? I've heard Transfiguration can be a dangerous subject and was wondering if there was any special area meant for practice."

Thebault smiled. "Excellent question, Mr. Beaufort. As you correctly stated, Transfiguration is one of the most dangerous subjects taught to young witches and wizards. The possibility to harm yourselves accidentally is high if you carelessly attempt something beyond your understanding.

In Beauxbatons, there are designated areas in the library and your Common rooms that are meant for practicing your exercises. These areas are warded to protect other students and alert a teacher if any mishap occurs. While I would insist you always have some form of supervision, I understand that sometimes it's not possible. I ask that you be safe and utilize these resources."

Archer gave her a smile. "Thank you, Professor."

Thebault nodded. "Any other questions?"

Apparently, Archer's initiative to ask a question had given others the courage to follow. A couple of students asked about the curriculum and about homework policy and expectations. Thebault answered, and after seeing no one else raising their hands, she started taking attendance.

Finishing attendance quickly, she started lecturing them on classroom safety and the basic magical theory behind Transfiguration and what it entailed. Her lecture was somewhat dry but informative.

He could tell she had a passion for Transfiguration, but she wasn't able to inspire students the way Desjardin could.

Archer was sure that it was mainly due to a lack of experience teaching others. This was Thebault's first year as a professor, so he cut her some slack. Hopefully, she would improve as time went on.

Finishing the lecture, they moved on to the practical portion of the class, where Professor Thebault conjured a wooden matchstick in front of every student. Archer felt an oncoming sense of deja vu.

Thebault flicked her wand as several holders flew out of the cupboards at the front of the room. Another flick sent one holder to each student. "We will be starting with the traditional exercise that all initiates have to complete when they are introduced to the noble art of Transfiguration.

You must transfigure your matchsticks into needles. The spell's incantation is _Acus_, and the wand movement is a sharp, downward flick. However, remember that visualization is the key. You can cast the spell all you want, but if your intent and imagination are not supporting your magic, it will have no effect.

Also, please place your matchsticks on the holders before attempting the exercise. It would be inconvenient if you changed the desk instead of the matchstick."

Hearing her instructions, all the students moved to properly secure their matchsticks in the holder's grasp. When everyone was ready, Professor Thebault gave them the go-ahead to start the exercise.

Archer looked pensively at the matchstick in front of him. He did not want to make it look like he already knew the material. That would raise all sorts of questions that Archer didn't want to answer. As of right now, he was just another non-magical born student like Louis.

On the other hand, if he wanted to ask Thebault about advanced topics in Transfiguration, he would have to show some competence in the basics. He was stuck in his musings when he noticed a shadow approaching in his peripheral vision. His right hand flinched slightly, attempting to draw his wand and defend himself from a possible hostile.

Suppressing his instinct, he turned his head and met the imperious gaze of Professor Thebault. "Mr. Beaufort, I noticed you have not moved since I told the class to begin. Is there a reason why you have not started the exercise yet?"

Deciding to take a cautious approach, he adopted a sheepish expression as he ran his fingers through his hair. "I apologize, Professor. You mentioned that visualization was key to the spell, so I got caught up trying to properly go through the change in my mind before casting the spell."

Thebault nodded. "Patience is a good thing to have when it comes to Transfiguration, Mr. Beaufort. However, you must also not be paralyzed by uncertainty and doubt. Only by casting the spell can you truly learn where you need to improve. Be confident and know what you want to happen. Keep the visualization in your mind when you cast, and your magic will listen to you."

Nodding at her advice. Archer reached into his robes and mimed retrieving his wand. There was no need to showcase the fact that he had a wrist holster, or how quickly he could draw his wand.

Wand in hand, he looked at the matchstick intently. He made a show of aiming at the match carefully before casting with a flick of his wand.

"_Acus_."

Within the blink of an eye, the match changed into a sharp, silver needle. Immediately upon his success, he widened his eyes in false wonder. "Wow! I can't believe that actually worked!"

He turned and noticed Thebault's expression. He saw her smiling brilliantly. She reached for the needle and picked it up, bringing it closer to her eyes. She rolled the needle between her fingers, as her eyes flickered left and right, scanning for any imperfections.

After what felt like several minutes, she placed it down onto the desk and addressed him. "That was an excellently cast spell, Mr. Beaufort. Is this your first time casting it?"

Archer nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Professor!" A blatant lie, but she didn't need to know that.

She beamed at him. "Well, it looks like you have a real talent for the art of Transfiguration. Try it again, and if you are successful a second time, you can help your friends."

She flicked her wand at the needle, reverting it back into a matchstick.

Archer nodded. "Of course, Professor Thebault. I'm sure I can do it again."

With confidence, he cast the spell again, not bothering with visualizing it a second time. He simply called to his magic, instructing it to change the matchstick into a needle. With just a jab of his wand, the match transformed into a needle for the second time.

He whipped his head around to celebrate the second success when he noticed something wrong. Professor Thebault's eyes were wide with surprise.

"Mr. Beaufort. That was an extremely impressive showing. Silently casting the spell on your second try. Even I was not capable of such a feat before my fourth year."

Archer bit his tongue as he cursed internally. 'Merlin damn it! I instinctually cast the bloody spell silently!'

Even when practicing the spells before school, he had never bothered to use the words. In fact, he had not remembered the incantation at all. After his intense training with Morgana, he had never needed them.

His magic had listened to his orders without question. Spoken words were unnecessary to accomplish his spells. Voldemort had been much the same in his level of control over his magic. The only difference being his skills in silent casting was geared towards the Dark Arts.

He needed to salvage the situation quickly if he wanted to avoid unnecessary attention.

"Really?! I don't even know what I did! I just thought about changing it really hard, and then it happened!"

It was the most convincing of an explanation he could muster given the circumstances: intense concentration on a spell along with a sudden burst of accidental magic. Believable enough, especially seeing as he had put on a show of really focusing on the visualization.

A flicker of something showed briefly on Professor Thebault's expression. Archer couldn't tell if it was doubt or not. Hopefully, his explanation would hold muster with her. If it didn't... well, he would cross that bridge when he got there.

She chose to smile while complimenting his performance. "Excellent work, Mr. Beaufort. It looks like you have a predisposition for the field of Transfiguration. I daresay one day you could become a Master of great skill."

Archer nodded while humbly deflecting her praise. "Thank you for your high praise, Professor Thebault. I still have a long journey ahead of me, and I hope to learn a lot from you in the coming years."

Thebault nodded. "Seeing as you have completed the exercise, you may choose to help your classmates, or pack up and leave. You will still have to complete the homework assignment: one sheet of parchment on the main factors that affect the final form of a transfigured material."

Saying her piece, she walked away to go help other students.

Louis, Antonio, and Javier immediately started bombarding him with compliments and requests for help once Professor Thebault left. He laughed at their antics and started helping them with the exercise. By the end of class, all three of them were able to complete the exercise flawlessly.

With their second class finished, they only had Etiquette left before they were done for the day. After a hearty lunch, they went to the classroom and studied the finer points of magical culture with Professor Julia Mercier. An older witch with a severe attitude.

She demanded nothing but excellence and spoke of Beauxbatons students and the elegance expected of them. Archer did what he was told but didn't put much effort into it.

The rest of the week went well, as they attended all their classes and learned from their new professors. Archer found himself really enjoying Potions than he previously did. That git Snape had well and truly ruined what had been an exciting prospect for him in his first year at Hogwarts.

He spent a lot of time in the Common Room with his roommates, but also made sure to get to know other people in their year. This was his second chance at getting a solid magical education at a top-ranking school. He was not going to waste it by moping about his circumstances and worrying about the future.

Regardless of Voldemort's existence, it never hurt creating connections with influential people. Hell, the Malfoy family's entire power base was rooted in that simple principle with the addition of monetary incentives. If anything, having friends in high places would make some of his plans easier to execute.

They began to recognize him as the smart kid, so a lot of them introduced themselves by approaching him for help. He gladly helped them to the best of his ability and ingratiated himself to most of their students in their year.

Some, like Florian and his ilk, found him insufferable and constantly tried to get others to not seek him out. Thankfully, his efforts were for naught, as by the time he started, Archer had already garnered a lot of support due to his intelligence.

It was euphoric seeing what he considered the French version of Draco Malfoy get snubbed by people who would usually support him. It was that line of thinking that spurred him on to approach others with an offer of help.

The rumor mill worked the same at Beauxbatons as it did at Hogwarts. Within a single week, he had cemented his reputation as an exceedingly intelligent and skilled first year who was friendly and approachable.

Things went the same for months, as the winter break approached. He had established a comfortable routine for his days. With the help of a prefect, he had discovered the old gym that Beauxbatons had abandoned. He had gotten weird looks from his roommates when he had asked.

It had made sense after he had gotten help from the prefect. Every magical in this world had a higher baseline of overall fitness than their non-magical counterparts. A lot of that had to do with the absorption of raw magic. The ability to enhance the body with magic made exercise unnecessary, as magical energy improved and staved off things that would affect non-magicals to a much larger degree.

It was something he had noticed the moment he had portkeyed into Beauxbatons. Magicals were significantly more attractive than non-magicals. The woman had lithe and curvaceous figures, and the men were statuesque with nary an imperfection on their faces.

Even he had to grudgingly admit that Florian, despite his bigoted attitude could be considered somewhat attractive to the female population. While such traits were not as common among non-magical born students, pure bloods could be distinctly identified by their model good looks.

It made him wonder whether blood gave people a genuine advantage in this reality. Or maybe, the pure blood families made their children undergo rituals that enhanced their features. With how vain Florian was, Archer was sure that theory held some merit.

He had cleaned and started using the various machines, incorporating them, and running into his daily routine. Nobody in his year had noticed him exercising as he woke up every day at 5 in the morning, when none of them were up.

There had even been a punching bag and fencing podium there when Beauxbatons used to teach sword fighting. He was happy to have the whole room to himself and made sure to practice his fighting forms and fencing.

He had spent a lot of time and effort into learning those skills, so making sure they didn't dull was a must. Especially when he was going to be fighting others sooner or later.

The effort he put into his classes had been noticed by all his professors. Desjardin and Thebault were both very appreciative of his skill and often took the time to give him a few extra assignments to challenge him. When asked why they did so, their responses could be summarized as "talented students need to face challenges to grow."

They clearly stated that Beauxbatons would not hold back students out of a misguided sense of pseudo-equality. The Academy was a merit-based institution, and talented students would be given special treatment. However, earning that special treatment could only be achieved through hard work. No matter how talented one was, if they had unlikable personalities and were averse to putting in time and effort, they wouldn't go far.

Archer had demonstrated through his actions that he was worthy of special treatment and had shown talent in their respective fields. Therefore, he was given extra assignments to help foster his talents.

He knew that this was a golden opportunity, so he started putting in more effort than usual, excelling in his practical assessments and homework assignments. His professors were ecstatic at his rate of progress and were happy to help him whenever he asked.

After months of ingratiating himself with her, Archer decided that today was the day he would have the conversation he needed to have with Thebault. He had asked her earlier this week and timed it so the winter break would be just a day away, allowing him to go back home and think about the conversation.

He had relayed his progress and successes back to them weekly, as he had promised. They were very happy with how well he was doing, but always made sure to tell him not to push himself too hard. He was looking forward to the break, as he missed them a lot.

Arriving at Professor Thebault's office, he gave his uniform a quick once over. Seeing nothing out of place, he knocked.

"Come in." He heard Professor Thebault call out.

He entered the room and saw the professor behind a large desk with several thick tomes and sheets of parchment haphazardly littering the surface. It fit with his professor's background as a researcher.

She gave him a warm smile as she greeted him. "Good afternoon, Mr. Beaufort. Please have a seat." She gestured at one of the chairs in front of the desk.

Nodding gratefully, he thanked her and sat down. "Thank you very much for agreeing to meet with me Professor."

"No problem at all. It was the least I could do for my best student."

That brought a smile to his face. "You flatter me, Professor. I'm sure there are many upper years more skilled than I am."

She shook her head. "Nonsense. While they may have experience on their side, there is no doubt that you have an extraordinary talent in the art of Transfiguration. Trust me on this, as I have an eye for these sorts of things."

Archer smiled. "I'll take your word for it then, Professor. I came here to discuss an issue that I've been facing. It's nothing to do with any assignments, but it's affecting my extracurricular efforts."

"A problem? Your classwork does not lead me to believe you would face any during your time in school. Please tell me about it."

Archer took a deep breath before starting. "You may or may not know this, but even with the extra assignment you're giving me each week, I've been studying ahead. I just find Transfiguration so fascinating, and the things a Master of the art can accomplish is astounding.

I was able to get through most of the curriculum for the rest of this year and second year before I discovered something. When it came to transfiguring inanimate object into something that is alive, despite my best efforts, I just cannot get it to work."

Professor Thebault looked very surprised. "Mr. Beaufort. Are you telling me that you successfully went through the entire curriculum for your first two years in three and half months?"

Archer nodded. "Yes, Professor. I can show you if you like?"

She immediately flicked her wand, banishing the parchments and books off her table. With a quick jab, she conjured a matchstick and holder. "Demonstrate the matchstick to sewing needle exercise and we will go through all the other exercises in order."

Archer complied and chose to do them all silently, demonstrating true mastery of the exercises. As he continued from one exercise to the next, he could Professor Thebault's eyebrows steadily climbing in disbelief at his prowess. Within 5 minutes, he had successfully shown that he had studied and understood everything.

She seemed to have been stunned into silence as she contemplated his stellar performance. She caught herself quickly as she cleared her throat. "Mr. Beaufort, I have to say that if anything, I underestimated your talent. What you have shown me today can easily allow me to make the case to push you ahead to third year Transfiguration. There is no need to waste your time in my first-year class."

"I disagree Professor, as this is where my problem becomes relevant. Third year is when most of the spells involving inanimate to animate transfiguration are learned. As I mentioned previously, I simply can't get any to work, meaning that I would struggle among the third years."

Professor Thebault observed him closely. "You are saying that it's not possibly for you? All the exercises you've demonstrated would indicate that you should have no problem with the third-year material."

"I am positive that this is the case. Seeing as you are the most knowledgeable person in this school regarding the theory behind Transfiguration, I was hoping that you would be able to shed light on what is preventing me from casting the spells properly."

Professor Thebault nodded. "Alright. The best way to know what is going wrong is to attempt the spell." She conjured a small stone statue onto her desk. "Please cast the _Avifors_ spell, and I will observe and try to see what is affecting your casting."

Archer nodded and pointed his wand at the statue. Visualizing it changing into an owl, he confidently cast the spell. "_Avifors._"

The stone started bubbling as it slowly shifted into the shape Archer intended. It was looking successful for a second before it abruptly stopped and reverted into its original state. He immediately looked to the professor to see whether she had noticed anything.

Professor Thebault's brows were furrowed in concentration as she stared unblinkingly at the statue. Archer chose to not interrupt her and wait in silence.

After a couple of minutes, Professor Thebault finally spoke up. "Mr. Beaufort. I think I have an idea regarding the reason behind your inability to cast inanimate to animate transfiguration spells. However, before we begin dissecting the problem, would you care for some tea?"

Archer nodded. "That would be nice, Professor."

"Excellent." She clapped her hands, and a house elf appeared next to her. "Could you please fetch a fresh pot of chamomile tea and two cups please?"

The elf nodded and summoned the requested tea and cups with a snap of its fingers. "Would you be liking anything else, madame?"

Professor Thebault smiled. "No, thank you."

The elf promptly vanished and Professor Thebault poured the tea into the cups. Handing one to him, she took a sip and settled back into her chair. "Mr. Beaufort. May I call you Archer?"

Archer nodded. "Of course, Professor."

She smiled. "Well then Archer, you may call me Laura. I anticipate that our conversation will go into rather personal territory. I can guarantee that this conversation is necessary to address the problem you face. The traditional niceties observed between a professor and student will get in the way of that."

Archer sipped his tea, giving him a few seconds to consider what exactly she was saying. He needed to be careful and not give too much information. This would involve a delicate balancing act of compartmentalization and knowing what knowledge to offer her. He relaxed into the comfortable chair and set his cup down onto the table.

"Thank you for allowing me such a courtesy, Laura. What kind of reflection are you referring to?"

Laura gave him a knowing look. "I want you to tell me about yourself."

That question threw him off. 'Tell her about myself? What the hell does that have to do with Transfiguration? Is she fishing for something? Does she suspect anything off about me?' Several thoughts raced through his head as he considered what she was asking him to do.

"Well, my name is Archer Beaufort. My parents are Jean-Luc and Sofia Beaufort. They are both non-magicals and were introduced to our world after I had a large bout of accidental magic at the age of 7. Since then, we have been to the Place Cachee several times and my parents have also dabbled in reading some of the books on Charms and the like that I bought at the bookstore.

I love them with all my heart, even though they are not my biological parents. I was placed into an orphanage when I was a baby by my biological mother, who left after informing the matron of my first name. I spent the first five years of my life there before I was adopted by my parents."

Laura's eyes shined as she gave him a smile. "Well, I think I can say that we've located the root of the problem."

Upon hearing her declaration, Archer straightened up and gave her his undivided attention. "Please tell me, Laura."

Laura cleared her throat and started speaking. "First, I need to give you some context to your specific situation. I assume that you are aware that any student who is sent an acceptance letter must meet the entry requirements for Beauxbatons?"

Archer nodded.

"Excellent. What is not publicized is the main criteria for admission. An arithmantic principal was discovered in 1777 by a brilliant wizard named Joseph-Louis Lagrange. You may have heard of him if you have had any exposure to calculus and Newtonian mechanics."

Archer was surprised. Lagrange was a wizard? Which other famous physicists or mathematicians was magical that he wasn't aware of? He needed to do some research in the library.

Laura continued. "Lagrange discovered that it was possible to calculate a child's capacity to channel wild magic at the age of 11. Generally, a child's core stabilizes at age 7, giving them the ability to subconsciously access their magic. Hence, most bouts of accidental magic occur between the ages of 7 and 10.

We use a measurement system called the Lagrangian Scale to calculate a quantifiable number that accurately indicates the potential of a magical child at age 11. If they meet a designated minimum threshold, they are sent a letter of admission.

This system is universal across the magical world, as all magical schools measure incoming students on the same scale. The only difference is the minimum number required for admission."

Archer spoke up. "So, you're saying that every person who meets the number gets an acceptance letter? That makes sense, but you never mentioned anything after the age of 11. Surely there would be some disparity that would happen across the numerous students. Some would be stronger or weaker than others, right?"

Laura beamed. "I'm glad you noticed that Archer. The Lagrangian Scale only measures to the age of 11 because after that, it is all on the child to constantly practice and stretch their core's channeling capacity. It works much like a muscle. If you steadily push yourself to your limits, you will find your core becoming more flexible and your spellcasting ability will increase accordingly.

The reason we admit based on the predicted result at 11, is that even if a student who is admitted does the bare minimum to pass their classes with an Acceptable, they will still be able to cast all the spells that will be taught in their classes throughout their seven years of education.

This holds especially true for Transfiguration, which is highly intensive both magically and mentally. Some children just aren't born with the amount of power necessary to cast the spells.

They would still get letters of acceptance from other magical schools with less stringent requirements. They would eventually build up the power necessary to succeed. However, what would take them years of effort, would be possible for the average Beauxbatons first year."

Archer nodded along. Laura's explanation made a lot of sense, even though in his case, it wasn't as accurate due to the special circumstances regarding his core.

Laura passionately waved her hands around as she made her next point. "Despite what some people think, we are always taking in the magic around us, even when we are not utilizing it to do anything specific. Due to our cores constant absorption and filtration of wild magic, children are very susceptible to outbursts of accidental magic.

These outbursts of magic are measured by a system within the school, its inner workings only known to the Headmistress. Its readings are then used to calculate which children are qualified for Beauxbatons. However, there are some noticeable changes that occur due to us channeling wild magic. For example, have you noticed anything strange about the student population of Beauxbatons?"

Archer thought back. Utilizing his Occlumency to search through his memories, he started from the first time he arrived by portkey to the current moment. Laura let him think as she waited for his answer while sipping her tea.

Out of the blue, something came to mind. "Yes. I noticed that there were generally more girls than boys, for all of the years."

Laura smiled. "Precisely! Researchers have proposed many theories about why that is the case, and a select group of them found some ancient texts that shed some light on what was believed to be the cause for this phenomenon.

Apparently, most ancient magicals followed the belief of what is now called the Old Religion. Some Pureblood families stemming from those times still hold those views close to their core philosophy.

The tenets explain that magicals were all considered the children of Mother Magic. It is stated that Mother Magic was a life-giving deity that gave select humans the ability to absorb and use her essence to affect the world around them. By taking in her essence, it fundamentally changed the biological makeup of the humans who would go on to become witches and wizards.

This explained why we are known to be extraordinarily healthy, live significantly longer lives due to slower aging, and finally, females are more likely to give birth to girls rather than boys. If you take the ratio of male to female students of Beauxbatons across all the years, you will find that the average population of boys will be around 40%. This principle holds true to the magical world at large.

The Old Religion states that girls are the Vessels of Mother Magic, seeing as they carry the future generations of her children. More girls being born, mean more magical children. It is seen as the primary way Mother Magic ensures her gift lives on in her children.

Boys, on the other hand, have a slightly lower chance of being born. To make up for their lack of population, they are blessed with a higher potential for magic. While it may sound chauvinistic to say that on average wizards are magically stronger than witches, that doesn't mean the claim holds no merit.

A group of magibiologists researching the Old Religion in the early 1900's put that claim to the test. They took the top 10 Lagrangian Scale measurements of every magical child aged 11 in every school in the world for 7 years.

Regardless of the class or standing of the schools in question, they all reported the top 10 calculated Lagrangian scores for their incoming classes. Shockingly, out of nearly 271 magical education institutions in the world, boys dominated the lists on nearly all of them.

Out of 2710 reported scores, girls accounted for less than 3% of the entire sample. That was only for the first year though. As the next six years progressed, they found that while there was an uptick in the percentage of girls making the top ten lists, boys still dominated by a statistically significant margin."

Archer frowned. "While I'm certainly not opposed to learning more about this topic, what does that have to do with the issue I'm facing in Transfiguration?"

He felt a little impertinent asking the question, seeing as Laura had been so eager to explain the context to him. At the same time, she knew what was going wrong and was taking her own sweet time to get to the point. It was irritating to say the least.

Laura held up her hand. "Have patience, Archer. The reason I am mentioning this is to segue into my next point. I am aware of the, shall we say, less than pleasant relationship you share with Mr. Florian Royard. Boys like him, who come from a wealthy, established Pureblood family are raised to believe that purity of blood is sacrosanct.

Some individuals take it to extreme lengths, going so far as to say that non-magical born and half-bloods are inferior or unworthy of the blessing of magic. Over the decades, it has become a hotly contested issue within our society, going so far as causing a civil war in Britain.

Magibiologists have gone back and forth on the issue of blood purity. While I would never support the movement or what it stands for, it would be intellectually dishonest of me to not acknowledge some of the findings over the last two centuries worth of studies.

Simply put, those of magical blood do have an inherent advantage over those without. That has been proven to be the case through multiple methods of magical aptitude testing of children. Ancient families have centuries of knowledge that shape their magic to be better at certain things than others.

Children born to certain houses with specialties have an innate magical predisposition for those fields. For example, Mr. Royard's family is known to specialize in Transfiguration. Despite not having put in anywhere near as much effort as you have, he is still ranked right behind you in your year.

Putting him aside, the next three people in the top 5 of your year all come from well-established Pureblood magical families. While your friend and roommate Mr. Dreyfus puts forth his best effort, he simply lacks the magical power to surpass his peers as of this moment.

It could be said that Mother Magic blesses those who work hard to understand her gift, as that could change should Mr. Dreyfus work hard to improve his control and work on surpassing his limits.

By the end of his seven years of Beauxbatons, he could potentially be just under Mr. Royard in power and casting ability. With skill and experience, there is a possibility that Mr. Dreyfus could match him. However, if Mr. Royard puts in the same effort, it would be much less likely for Mr. Dreyfus to ever match him in his lifetime.

In the future though, should Mr. Dreyfus marry and have a child with a witch, regardless of her blood status, his child will be born with an advantage for learning magic he did not have as a first-generation wizard.

This theory has been tested multiple times and shown to be true. While his child's advantage would not be as pronounced as a child from the Royard family, given time, Mr. Dreyfus' descendants could be on par with those of Mr. Royard's. This would especially be the case if all his children put in similar effort in their magical studies and sired children with other magicals exclusively.

Given what we know to be true, all of this tells me something important. You undoubtedly come from a magical family and are the child of two magical parents. Most likely, your biological family specialized in Transfiguration or Charms. Another possibility is that you could be the child of magicals from two different families who historically specialized in those subjects.

Now, we approach the crux of the matter. You are something of an enigma, Archer. Certain oaths prevent me from giving any specific details regarding the Lagrangian scores for a student. They do give me enough leeway to give you a general idea though. Your score had the entire faculty in an uproar. It would be safe to say that you are the most powerful young wizard to attend this institution for the past 200 years.

Your magical power along with your talent and diligent study allowed you to bypass a lot of material that would have stumped many others of your background. To give you an idea, Beauxbatons accepts roughly 150 to 200 students per year on average. Out of those students, the number of orphans who have been accepted in the past 50 years can be counted on two hands.

All of them were children orphaned by the Global Wizarding War started by the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald. The war devastated the European Continent, and many magical children were separated from their families. These children grew up knowing nothing about their history and magic, much like a typical non-magical born student.

As they were reintroduced to the magical world and went through their education, my predecessor observed an interesting trend. Would you care to guess what he saw?"

Archer gulped before taking a large sip of his tea to settle himself. Whatever conversation he was expecting, this was not it. To think that blood purity had a basis in fact and wasn't the delusion of Purebloods who thought they were better than others because of their wealth and family history. He took a moment to calm himself before he was confronted with the answer to his problem.

Looking straight at Laura, he spoke. "I'm guessing they had similar problems in Transfiguration. At least from our conversation, that's what I think you were hinting at."

Laura had a wide grin on her face. "Right on the money, Archer. Every single one of them faced issues when it came to inanimate to animate Transfiguration. To explain why would require a solid understanding of the fundamental nature of Transfiguration and how it affects us.

I won't bore you with the specifics and I'll simplify the theory to its essence. When you cast a Transfiguration spell, you are absorbing the wild magic in the air around you, filtering it through your core and sending the energy through your wand in the form of a spell. During this process, you are visualizing the changes that you intend to make and expressing your will through your magic.

One of the drawbacks of Transfiguration, is that you must have a clear sense of self when you command your magic to change the world around you. This is usually not a problem, as most children develop their identities throughout their childhood and rarely face any problems during their years here.

Wild magic is a volatile force, and every witch and wizard must take care to not let it overwhelm them. This goes doubly so, for Transfiguration. If a magical cast a spell beyond their ability without a clear sense of self-identity, they will be broken apart. Their minds will be destroyed by the wild magic and their will stripped away.

Therefore, there is a well-defined curriculum that steadily progresses towards the magics that could permanently harm a student. There is a reason why inanimate to animate spells are not touched upon until third year. A student must be well-versed in the fundamentals before continuing onward.

For orphans, this is a roadblock they all eventually face. I understand that you love your parents, Archer. They adopted you and no doubt showered you with love and affection. I can tell due to how highly you regard them.

Unfortunately, due to your background, your sense of self was not established properly. No matter how much you identify as part of the Beaufort family, that is not your true magical name. You must understand that in our society, names have power. There are potentially two powerful family magics sleeping in your blood that are waiting to be awakened.

My predecessor mentioned that the way previous orphans solved their issues was by taking a magical inheritance test at Gringotts bank. The blood ritual identified the various family magics that dwelled in their blood and gave them an identity that is magically significant.

From there, they would research their families and a sense of belonging that would automatically solve their problem. The main issue in your case, is that you are not old enough to undergo the ritual. You have to be of age to take the Heirship of a family, and that age is 13."

Archer struggled to process what he was hearing. It didn't matter to him if he was born a Pureblood or not. All he cared about was the loss of his skills. Transfiguration was a field of magic he loved more than anything. Learning that he was stuck and there was nothing he could do before the age of 13, hurt.

His disappointment must have shown on his expression as Laura immediately got up and walked over. She started comforting him with some pats on the back.

"It's okay, Archer. Even though you are limited right now in the applied aspect of Transfiguration, there is nothing preventing you from learning more about the underlying theory. In fact, I am in a similar situation to you."

This frank admission surprised him as he looked up at her.

"Yes. I am just like you with my love for the art of Transfiguration if you couldn't already tell. I put forth a groundbreaking theory for my Mastery project. I remember how desperately I wanted to apply what I had theorized. It is one thing to write your hypotheses down on paper, it is another to see it in front of your eyes.

It was a heartbreaking moment of realization for me when I found that I would never be able to truly prove my theory. I simply don't have the power to cast the spells. Even after I was awarded my Mastery, I couldn't help but think that I had ultimately failed and was undeserving of it. After all, fancy theories don't hold much stock if you can't prove them to others.

What you saw on my desk was my research into finding an external method that I could use to simulate the effects of elemental conjuration. That, or finding aids that would allow me to channel the necessary amount of magical energy to cast just one of the spells. I have been researching since the day I received my Mastery, and I am nowhere closer than I was before."

Archer didn't know what to say. This was the first time he had ever had such a heart to heart with a professor. Merlin knew how much he didn't like his experience at Hogwarts. Between all the attempts on his life and the sheer incompetence displayed by the staff, he had never bothered trying to get to know them on a personal level.

By the time the war had kicked into high gear, most of them had been killed by the Death Eaters. Flitwick had been the last one to go, taking down 24 Death Eaters all by himself when they attacked Hogwarts. That man had been the lone professor in the entire school he had truly respected.

The way his conversation with Laura had gone was now in foreign territory. It was unthinkable to him that a professor would be willing to share their frustrations so openly with a student. It could be because Laura was a young witch, so empathizing with her was easier for him. Nevertheless, despite his initial discomfort, he warmed at the genuine concern she showed for him.

"Thank you very much for taking the time to have this conversation with me, Laura. You've left me with a lot to think about. Regarding your issue, I have faith that you will one day be able to prove your theory. If you can't find a method that works, I promise that I will help you should I be able to in the future."

She smiled gently. "No need for thanks, Archer. All I ask is that you not let this get you down and affect your work. I have confidence in your ability to get over this obstacle in your path. Seeing as you will be unable to skip the practical curriculum, I will personally give you assignments in advanced theory.

When you are finally able to cast the spells, you will be highly knowledgeable in the theory behind them. This will allow you to cast them effectively and then we can truly start fostering your talent. I wish you a great winter break, and I will see you next year."

Recognizing the dismissal, he gave her a deep bow while thanking her again. He walked out of the office and proceeded towards his dorm. Entering his dorm, he went to his room and unceremoniously flung his shoes off and chucked his book bag on the ground before collapsing into his bed.

He didn't know how much time he had spent staring at the ceiling when Louis came back from dinner and questioned him on his absence. He just mentioned not being hungry, and his reticence to answer any further questions led to Louis deciding to leave him to his devices.

Time ticked on as he replayed his conversation with Laura in his mind over and over. Sleep didn't come to him as he contemplated the revelations he had heard. Her assumptions of his parentage had affected him more than he thought possible.

He thought he was satisfied with his life as the son of Jean and Sofia. Now, the reality of his situation was hitting him hard. No matter how much he wished to ignore whatever circumstances he found himself in, he just couldn't. Was his birth mother still alive? If so, why had she abandoned him?

Sighing, he kept his gaze on the blank ceiling. For the first time in nearly 5 years in this reality, he was truly and utterly lost.

* * *

**Post Chapter AN****:**

Well, I bet y'all weren't expecting that! What can I say? I got tired of the "Hur dur all Purebloods are magically weak inbred cousinfuckers with inadequacy issues" trope. So I took that shit and flipped it on its head. Honestly speaking, this was something that I had already planned for the original iteration of the story. It just adds a different perspective that I wanted to explore in this story, especially with how it changes the inner workings magical society and affects Archer's place in it. I want to go in depth with both of those concepts as I build out the new reality.

As for how this affects Voldemort and the Death Eaters? You'll find out later.

To those of you questioning whether Archer will be the Heir to all the houses he used to be a part of in his previous reality, that question will be answered in a couple of chapters. You all mentioned in the reviews that I hadn't made clear what year Rose will be in comparison to Archer. That will be revealed either in the next chapter or the one after it, depending on how much time I have to write. If I can't update next week, I will combine the two chapters like I did with this one.

I hope you enjoyed reading the chapter. I feel that I've made a decision regarding whether to completely restart this iteration as a completely new story. In short, I will do it. However, that won't happen until I catch up to where I left off in the previous version. Once I get there, I will take these chapters and upload it into a new story that you guys can follow/favorite, and re-upload the old chapters back onto this one.

That won't happen for some time though, so fell free to follow this story if you like where its going.

Thank you very much for reading, and I hope to see you next week.

Cheers,

AltruousAlliterator


	6. Towards a Brighter Future

**Author's Note:**

Sorry for the late chapter. Been getting seriously busy with work and my writing time is slowly decreasing as our deadline draws closer. This is a significantly shorter chapter than I wanted it to be, but I couldn't really add much more to this.

I've been getting a lot of reviews that are concerned that I've "nerfed" Harry. This is not the case.

I have huge plans for this story. To me, this isn't going to be limited to what amounts to a dimensional crossing fix it fic that will get everything over and done with once Voldemort is dead. When I said I wanted to take the time to expland the universe, I truly meant it. I'm working on planning a long journey that features several mythical figures and deities that will affect Harry's path through this new reality. He will be extremely powerful, but he won't start off that way. It will be a journey to the top, and I hope that you all will accompany me by reading along.

Along with the world as a whole, I want to also include brief interludes that talk about the history of the Wizarding World. I started down this path with the explanation in my last chapter regarding the Purebloods and their advantages. I plan on completely revamping some of the inner workings of the Ministry, and also how these changes have affected known characters. There will be several OCs interacting with Harry that will start once we move to the more political arc of the story.

Keep in mind, I'm in it for the long haul. I have big plans for this story and don't see myself stopping anywhere before at least 500k words, but I'll most likely pass that, no matter how long it's going to take.

I genuinely appreciate all of your constructive criticism and suggestions, but I want to say that I have a clear plan of where I want my story to go. I ask you all to be patient with me as I build the world and build up Harry's character within it.

It might get a little angsty at times as I want to introduce some character growth through interactions he has with the denizens of the new world he finds himself in. With his past, it is going to be hard for him to associate the feelings he has from his memories with what the person is like in the reality he finds himself in. I want to make that one of the primary focuses in the beginning so he can start his journey of badassery and not constantly look back.

Some of you are wondering where Rose and Fleur are. Don't worry, you'll meet them in the next couple of chapters. There will be a large timeskip afterward, so we'll get to the nitty gritty of the story when Archer turns 13. I'm gonna try and explain his history well, hopefully you guys will enjoy and understand my explanation. Some flashbacks will be there too, so look forward to it.

Sorry for rambling. Let's get on with the chapter!

* * *

Archer observed his room from the door. It was neat and clean, without a hint of personal touch. While his roommates had taken to sticking posters of Quidditch teams and decking their rooms with festive items to show their Yule spirit, his was empty. It looked almost clinical in appearance, as if a child hadn't been living in it for months. Not a single Quidditch poster, or family picture adorned the walls or shelves.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. After catching himself for what felt like the tenth time in the last couple of hours, he attempted to ignore the new feelings he was experiencing. It was safe to say that his conversation with Laura Thebault had affected him on a deep psychological level. It had shaken loose things that he had tried his utmost to bury.

Since their conversation, he had been in a perpetual state of reflection that brought dark thoughts to the forefront of his mind. Memories that he had steadfastly ignored, never to be addressed for a long time. How foolish was he to think that he could outrun his past life?

Fate's final words during their meeting had stuck out among the flashes he was reliving. '**Go with my blessing, Harry James Potter. You are destined for far greater things than simply killing a Dark Lord. Hopefully, you will receive the love you crave in your next great adventure and build the life you so richly deserve.**'

He snorted contemptuously. 'Blessing? More like a curse. She knew that I was going to activate that Merlin-be-damned ritual and get sent to this bizarro world. Was it also her plan for me to hijack the body of some random orphan too?'

He tried to not brood, but damn if he didn't feel justified in doing it. His life had been what most people would call a goddamn Shakespearean tragedy with him as the main schmuck who couldn't catch a fucking break. He had everyone he cared about violently taken away from him by a psychotic madman hellbent on world domination.

He sometimes felt that the muggles would have a field day making an entire movie franchise based on the clusterfuck that was his life. Hell, the good guy had triumphed in the end, despite losing everything and sacrificing himself to defeat his arch-nemesis. If that wasn't a poetically beautiful ending to a dark and gritty story, he didn't know what was.

Now he was just lost. He was in a new world that had the possibility to become just as bad if not worse than his previous one. What exactly was his place in this new reality he found himself stranded in? Was he going to channel his inner Oliver Twist and ask for a second serving while knowing exactly how badly he would be beaten down for it?

Sure, things had changed, but were they really for the better? Purity of blood mattered. That had been something he had a lot of trouble wrapping his head around, seeing as he spent most of his adult life fighting against the assholes who espoused that Hippogriff shit.

Voldemort was alive. Yay. There existed the possibility of the entire world going to hell in a hand basket for the second time in his life. Why was he even bothering at this point?

Maybe his counterpart Rose Potter would handle it. Merlin knows he deserved to just live out the rest of his days in peace without a Sword of Damocles hanging over his neck. Despite knowing the abject torture he would undoubtedly face should he choose to walk that path, he seemingly couldn't give himself over to apathy.

It had colloquially been referred to as his "saving people thing" by his once upon a time best friend. He hadn't put much stock into it, especially after discovering the conspiracy against him. Now he was not so sure though. What was it that constantly forced him to jump into action for the sake of others?

He had thought that his childhood hero complex had long been tempered after years of being in command of a literal magical army. The weight that came with leadership and authority had transformed his personality to a significant degree.

It had brought him no small amount of guilt, having sent thousands of magicals to their deaths. It was thoughts of vengeance for the dead that had fueled him for so long. It took a long time for him to accept that all his decisions had potentially fatal consequences and he would simply have to live with the blood on his hands for the rest of his days.

That was one of the main reasons behind him wanting to remain as low key as possible in his new life. If anyone knew what he could do, they would immediately thrust the responsibility of leadership upon him. Better him than them, they would all say. The stress and expectations were not something many people could handle.

He felt the self-sacrificing personality that had been inculcated into him over the years of manipulation by Dumbledore had aided him immensely in that regard. Ironically, the conniving old man was probably the only person who could have understood the pressure he had been under. He might have viewed him as a kindred spirit if he hadn't loathed the goatfucker with every fiber of his being.

That train of thought brought him directly to his next quandary. Why did he care so much?

This wasn't his reality. He was nothing but an uninvited guest. If things really got that bad, he could simply punch his timecard and that would be the end of it. Surely things couldn't get much worse than what he already experienced?

Fate would have to be a cruel bitch to drop him into another doomed world. Her words didn't specifically say anything, but little hints were starting to arise from the murky depths of his mind.

His birthday was the exact same in this new reality. There was undoubtedly a prophecy that spoke about the Dark Lord and a child born as the seventh month dies. Otherwise, there was no way Rose Potter would have survived her encounter with Voldemort.

There were unseen forces acting in the background, and the thought of his entire life being already planned out by a divine entity he was powerless to stop, scared him more than he cared to admit.

He mussed his fingers through his hair in frustration. A habit he had taken with him from his previous life into his new one.

'Why couldn't I just be normal?'

It was a question he had asked himself numerous times in his past life. Seeing as he never expected the possibility of being whisked away to another reality, it still seemed apropos now.

He used to be Harrison James Potter-Black, the feared Black Lich. The boy who had grown up abused by his relatives in the confines of a small closet. He had been told all his life that he was a waste and nothing he did could ever change that.

His entry into the magical world had provided him an escape from what he viewed as his personal hell. He felt empowered, knowing that his parents had loved him, and an entire world was there for him to explore. That illusion of solace and belonging had slowly been eroded by the annual attempts on his life from the day he walked into the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

Finding out about the conspiracy to gain his family's riches had been the straw that had broken the camel's back. The betrayal he faced at the hands of his mentor and best friends had all but destroyed the rose-colored glasses he had used to view the magical world. All those times he had prayed to God, Merlin, and many other deities for a normal year came rushing back to him.

What stood out the most were the tears that would cascade down his cheeks as he felt the sting of loneliness. What he wouldn't have given to be just another normal boy, without the weight of the world on his shoulders. He would have gladly sacrificed his entire fortune for the lives of his parents.

Ironically, his wishes had been granted, though several years too late. He had traversed across time and space into this reality, where he was a normal boy. As far as he knew.

He had parents that loved him unconditionally and supported him in all his endeavors. While being the adopted son of one of the richest families in France would not necessarily count as normal, it was still something he saw as a blessing.

Growing up with Jean and Sofia had been an amazing experience. He had gladly cast aside his previous identity to enjoy their affection. However, in certain moments of solitude, he had always compared them to Lily and James Potter.

Oftentimes, he found himself thinking that this was how it would have been like to grow up with them. From the way they had been portrayed by their numerous friends, he discovered many similarities between his original parents and his new ones. A handsome, loving, and playful father who came from a wealthy family, and a beautiful, intelligent, and caring mother with a humble background.

Even the orphanage he had grown up in hadn't been nearly as constricting and harsh as he would have expected. After all, Tom Riddle grew up in an orphanage, and look how he turned out. Despite his initial lack of parental figures, he had thrived under the care of the workers at the orphanage. His life had only gotten better once he had been adopted by Jean and Sofia.

Now, he was attending the premiere French magical institution and having a wonderful time. Even with the problems he was facing, his first semester at Beauxbatons had been better than nearly all his years at Hogwarts combined. The happiness he felt learning magic, and the many friendships he had made his first few months here memorable.

With the revelations from his conversation with Laura, he suddenly found himself questioning everything he thought he knew. He loved his parents and didn't feel like searching for his biological family was important. He was Archer Beaufort, no matter what anyone else said.

Laura's assertions had torn apart the little world of blissful ignorance he had constructed around himself. His favorite field would be almost impossible for him to excel in if he didn't find and develop his magical identity. That could only be done by awakening any family magic he might have within him. However, that would forever shatter the illusion of his implied identity as Archer Beaufort.

Not to mention, the emotional harm his little quest might cause Jean and Sofia was something he couldn't predict. They might blame themselves for not being good parents. It might damage the bond between them if he went digging for his past. Hell, there was a good chance that he might not like what he found, but for whatever reason, the universe had forced this upon him.

Transfiguration was one of the most important and combat applicable fields of magic he knew. It would be foolhardy to give up on it because of personal discomfort. He had to see this through, regardless of the consequences. Otherwise, his overall strength would take a huge hit.

Contemplating on this epiphany, he closed the door and cast a locking charm before walking out of the dorm and briskly walking towards the portkey travel building. He wanted to see his parents badly.

Arriving at the hall, he saw a queue that led to a pedestal in the center of the room. His foot tapped on the floor absentmindedly, anxious to go home. When his turn finally came, he stepped onto the podium with 10 other students. The professor in charge started counting down from 10.

A beat after he heard him say 1, the standard jerk tugged at his back as the world turned into a kaleidoscope of color. He spent the next few seconds tumbling through space and followed his standard procedure to ensure proper portkey arrival.

He closed his eyes as he felt himself being dragged right side up as he neared his destination. With a lurch, his feet hit the ground. Opening his eyes, the first thing he saw was his mother with tears in her eyes. She ran towards him and almost tackled him into the ground in her enthusiasm.

"My baby!" she exclaimed as she wrapped him in a tight hug.

He reciprocated her hug as he lost himself within her embrace. His father came over and wrapped his arms around them. He stayed silent as they all enjoyed the moment.

Before he knew what was happening, tears flowed unbidden. He sniffled as he attempted to regain control through Occlumency. It just didn't work, as the feeling of love and belonging flooded his very being. He hugged his mother tighter as he continued to cry.

He was home.


	7. Confronting Personal Demons

"Archer Beaufort" - Dialogue

'Archer Beaufort' - Thought

_Archer Beaufort_ \- Flashback (Past Thoughts and Dialogue)

* * *

After the Hallmark moment they had shared in the dining room, Archer was finally able to stop crying. It was embarrassing to think about, even though he was still a child in their eyes.

They took it in stride and tried to distract him with questions about his time at Beauxbatons. That was when he broke out of his flustered state and regaled them with all that had happened. He spoke about his roommates, how he met Louis, his professors, classes, and the interesting things they were learning.

His parents listened with rapt attention as he described the grandiose Dining Chamber, and the variety of delicious food he enjoyed there every day. They smiled as he recounted his first interaction with Louis after arriving at the school. They oohed and aahed as he described the various spells he was being taught. All of this was done without ever once losing the smile on their faces.

It was so touching that they cared so much about how he was doing there. He had found his love of learning rekindled. The wonder and excitement he felt at learning magic was something he hadn't felt since his first year at Hogwarts. The end of that year had set the tune for the rest of his years both at Hogwarts and beyond.

His weekly letters had really helped him stay in touch with his parents. They had kept him updated on all the little things that had happened while he was gone. Every letter mentioned how much they both missed him and had hyped him up for his eventual return for winter break.

They whiled the time away, just enjoying each other's company as the hours went by. After enjoying a scrumptious dinner his mother had made in preparation for his return, he went to bed feeling content with his new life.

Just being in their presence once more had eased the uneasy feeling that had been burgeoning. That was something he had realized during the emotional moment they shared when he arrived. He was loved. Regardless of whatever memories of the past that he had.

His parents loved him unconditionally, and that felt unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He decided then and there that he would work hard to reconcile his two lifetimes worth of memories. He couldn't ignore the life he had spent as Harry Potter.

No matter how badly he wished it weren't so, Harry Potter, and all the baggage associated with his past was a part of him. He needed to integrate those memories properly and use them to their maximum effect. The bits and pieces he currently made use of were nowhere near enough to make a difference in the long run.

Those memories contained the various exercises that Salazar and Morgana taught him to best control his magic. Their hard-earned knowledge was something he couldn't waste in his obstinacy. Starting rituals at the age of 7 was his best move so far, but everything after that had been a waste of time. He had to get his shit together quickly and get back to where he was.

The only way he could do that was to practice until he couldn't anymore. Sheer perseverance was the only things that could help him improve enough to confront the threats in his future.

Archer woke up the next morning with determination blazing in his eyes. He finished his morning routine before starting his daily exercise regimen. Today, he decided to put in extra effort and push himself further than normal. At Beauxbatons, he had become satisfied with miniscule gains every week, but now he needed to crank up the intensity to 11 if he wanted to build his endurance and strength to be able to cast high level spells.

After an intense workout, he returned to his room. His muscles burned as they trembled in protest. Taking a quick shower, he went down and ate the hearty breakfast his mother had prepared. He let his parents know about his plans to improve himself and they were all for it.

He went back to his room and started his Occlumency training, but this time, with a twist. Part of his initial training had been burying the memories of his past deep into his psyche and making sure they didn't affect him.

He had to dig them up and steadily integrate his latent memories by reliving all of them. Sadly, that was the only way to properly organize the mind, and one of the prerequisites to building barriers. The pioneers of the art most likely hadn't thought about the potential consequences someone in his unique situation would face.

The most pressing concern that came with this change was that he would have overlapping memories. Once he was able to process and organize them all, he would have to dedicate time every day to keep them separate.

Otherwise, a whole host of problems could arise. Due to being younger than he originally was, he could get confused by flashes of old memories while new ones were being made. In battle, such a thing would mean his death.

He started the process, and wouldn't you know it, the very first memory was Voldemort killing his mother and attempting to murder him. He was off to a great start already. Four hours later, he had built up a decent sweat as he relived his first couple of years under the tender mercies of Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

Thankfully, Dudley hadn't been physically violent with him until they started school. So at least he had that going for him. A lot of the time was mainly spent in the darkness of the cupboard, where those thrice-damned monsters left him.

The few times he earned some respite was when they took him out to do the bare minimum to keep him alive. He was there meal ticket after all, as they were receiving a tidy monthly deposit from his vault, courtesy of Albus Dumbledore.

He had collapsed on his bed, panting as he recollected himself. This was not going to be easy, but it was necessary. After lunch, he gave himself a couple hours of recovery time before starting his study into advanced Charms and Transfiguration theory.

Those two subjects were the ones he specialized in, according to Thebault, so he decided to focus on them before anything else. He would have to subsist in doing things the old-fashioned way as he sorted through the old memories. It would take time to get to where he studied under Salazar and even longer to get to when Morgana had taken him under her wing.

One thing was for sure though. He would have to put in an immeasurable amount of effort to work his way back up. Memories of magical mastery did automatically make one an undefeatable wizard. He could have the memories of Merlin, and it still wouldn't matter if he couldn't control his magic at the level required to effectively use the spells.

Another thing he had to consider was that magic worked differently in this reality. Salazar and Morgana had taught him the theory behind worked for his old reality. His attempt to offset this possible issue was to read up on advanced theory and compare it to the one he was taught to try and find the optimal path forward.

Honestly, while Transfiguration was highly affected, he doubted that other types of magic that only involved intent and control would be that different. Though there was a chance he could be wrong in that assumption.

He continued the routine with dogmatic persistence until the final day of winter break arrived. Time had flown by after he devoted himself to practice. He had managed to get through most of his Hogwarts years and was on the tail end of his fourth year, right before the resurrection of Voldemort.

He was feeling anxious about moving forward. That night had changed the fate of the world itself. The man who killed his parents and countless other people had been raised from the dead. He had gone on to doom the entire world in his quest for power. Facing him was something Archer, no… Harry was nervous about.

He had started referring to himself as Harry as he relived the memories he had sought to run away from. Now, the name Archer felt slightly foreign to him. While everyone else called him Archer, including his parents, he felt a sense of detachment that wasn't there before.

Thebault was right when she claimed that his sense of self was poorly developed. All it had taken was embracing his past for his magical identity to go into flux. No wonder he had such a problem with inanimate to animate Transfiguration.

It was quite an inconvenience to be limited in such a way until he was 13 years old. He had done a little research and found out that only at age 13 does the family magic of a child start asserting itself.

11 signified the primary magical maturity, when magical children could gain conscious control over their magic. Therefore, every institution started formal magical training at age 11. Unless extremely gifted, many children weren't capable of casting spells due to lacking the focus and intent. Pureblood families made sure to teach the basics of magical theory to their children so they would find introductory wand based magic easy to learn.

13 was the age when the secondary magical maturity occurred. Unlike at age 11, magic will start shaping the body of a magical and accelerating growth. This is when family magic started to influence the development of a magical child. This being the case, it was the only time when the goblins could officially test the magic within the blood of a child to ascertain if they were eligible for any Heirships.

The accelerated growth period would last until age 15, where it would start slowing down but still proceed at a quicker than average pace till age 17. Age 17 was when young witches and wizards were legally declared as adults in the Wizarding World. The reason for this was because this was when they would receive their tertiary magical maturity, the last one they would receive for a long time.

Regarding the final magical maturity, it was all over the place. The final one came when a magical was in his prime. For most magicals, that was in their early to late forties. However, there were exceptions to that rule.

Exceedingly powerful wizards like Albus Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel were said to have gotten their final maturity in their early twenties. Apparently, the earlier you received your final maturity, the more powerful an individual was. At least, that was what he had understood from his research.

The age of final maturity also depended on several other factors. Constantly pushing one's limits and/or having an intense job that required extensive physical and magical training could potentially trigger earlier maturities. Aurors, Hit-Wizards, and the like were said to gain their maturities in their mid to late thirties.

With this information in mind, he had modified his ritual schedule to get the maximum effect. He had wanted to undergo one set of rituals at 11 but decided to wait until he was 13. He would stress primarily physical enhancements seeing as that was what developed the most till 15. 13 also held significance in Dark rituals, though he was nervous about trying it out.

None of the books he had read had spoken of Dark magic, but from the way it was talked about, he could tell there were some serious repercussions for practicing them. If Dark magic was such a taboo, he didn't even want to think about the consequences of undergoing a Dark ritual.

Well, he had two years to research and plan. Hopefully, Morgana also existed within the Peverell Grimoire in this reality as well. Then, he could get a better idea on what he could and could not do. Seeing as there wasn't anything, he could do for the time being, he put it on the back burner.

His 17th birthday would be when he would conduct the riskiest rituals that also yielded the most results. There he would focus on enhancing his magic and abilities to the maximum, seeing as his constant use of it would make his final maturity come quicker, thereby ensuring his growth to become the most powerful magical he could be.

Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and let it out.

'Calm down. This is all just a plan. Until the time comes, I can't say what might happen. I need to put my head down and reconsider my plan of attack.'

There was no way for him to interfere in the workings of Magical Britain. He was just a kid, and nobody would take him seriously. The only way to counter that was to build his image as a genius. It might bring unwanted attention, but the opportunities it would grant him would more than make up for it.

He agonized over the solution for a couple of minutes before the answer hit him.

'Dueling! I've already established a foothold as a fencing prodigy, translating those skills to dueling would not only allow me to train my magic, but also help me gain some notoriety.'

His eyes lit up as thoughts raced through his head. He had limited access to Transfiguration currently, but Charms was still on the table. Duelists did not bother with using too much Transfiguration as spells were time consuming to cast and could be easily shielded against. At least, that was the case for U-17 duels.

'Desjardin was a World Champion duelist. Maybe he could mentor me, or at least point me in the right direction. Does Beauxbatons have a Dueling Club? They most likely would. Should I join and then see where that takes me?'

The options were numerous, and all had their drawbacks. Ultimately, he decided that approaching Desjardin would be his best bet. He was already the man's favorite student. If he showed interest in a subject, he was skilled in…

He shook his head.

'Focus! Primary objective is to get familiar with dueling and the U-17 tournaments. Then approach Desjardin. If I show that I already researched ahead of time, it will look like I took the initiative and only make him more responsive to my request.'

Nodding to himself, he finalized his plan and walked down the stairs to have his breakfast. He decided that since he was leaving tomorrow, he would spend the entire day with his parents. They had shared a wonderful Christmas and New Year, but his single-minded focus on training had slightly put a damper on the festive mood.

After a bit of planning over breakfast, they decided to go out and do some shopping. His mother had insisted that he needed new clothes despite him telling her it wasn't necessary. Though in truth, he could see that some of his older clothes were slowly becoming tighter as he put on more muscle.

'Might as well get it over with now instead of putting it off for later. Maybe get some slightly baggier clothes I'll eventually fill in?'

Despite his utter loathing of shopping, seeing as his mother tended to make him model all the clothes she picked out. It didn't help that he would inevitably draw looks from other female shoppers who would go over to his mother and compliment him on her "handsome young son".

It sounded a bit conceited to say, but he knew he was good looking. He didn't require any confirmations from strangers about that fact. One of the rituals he conducted at age 7 would assure that he would look much better than average.

Once he did the next 3 sets of 7 rituals at age 13, his already outstanding looks would be refined even further as he grew older. By the end, it wouldn't be a stretch to say he would undoubtedly be one of the most handsome men on the planet. His powerful magic would make him age significantly slower and let him age well.

He had initially been reluctant to bother with his looks, but he remembered some wise words from Morgana: "People are more willing to follow a handsome man into battle than an ugly one. Charisma can only get you so far."

Didn't he know it. Despite Alastor Moody's expertise in warfare, his scarred face caused many people to fear him. His attitude hadn't helped, but he had been a genuine and kind person once you got to know him. Unfortunately, people placed emphasis on superficial characteristics, even during a deadly conflict. Alas, that was simply human nature.

He had been a brooding mess during the time he interacted with the magicals in the Slayer squadrons. Nevertheless, people went out of their way to be around him and compliment his looks. This occurred even after he earned a reputation as the deadliest Necromancer in history. Once they had gotten over his ability, they were back to admiring his looks, despite him being significantly more dangerous than Moody.

'Good looks open doors that are closed off to average looking people. I could probably get away with a hell of lot more if I were handsome. I just have to make sure I don't become a narcissist. That should be easy, but if my hormones start affecting me, it could become a problem.'

He had been noticing a small issue with his emotions during the years he spent growing up. His breakdown when he returned home had come out of nowhere. His mind had been overwhelmed by emotions that came out of nowhere. Even with his Occlumency he found himself being affected.

These instances of flaring emotions dulled down once he started integrating his past memories, but he knew that there was a chance they could affect him at any time. Occlumency was a must, but even that had its limits. It was unhealthy to block off emotions completely, but that was exactly what he needed to do to be effective in in a fight.

This was the main reason why he had chosen dueling as a possible avenue of training. It would simulate a magical fight and allow him to train his casting while helping him get fighting fit. It would also aid him in understanding how to deal with possible emotional flares mid fight.

He needed to be able to keep a cool head, but once hormones and magic were mixed, only Merlin knew what the consequences would look like. It wouldn't do for him to accidentally kill his opponent in a fit of rage. Hopefully, he would eventually get it under control.

His parents took him to a mall and as he predicted, his mother made him model several different articles of clothing. Thankfully, not many people were in the mall at the time, so they could shop in peace without anyone approaching them.

Sofia was insistent that he wear branded clothes. He didn't understand why exactly, and the questioning look he directed to his father earned a shrug in return. To make her happy, he acquiesced to whatever she said, and three hours later, he and his father were holding several bags filled with designer clothes as they made their way to a nearby restaurant.

They talked and laughed over delicious food as they enjoyed each other's company. His parents seemed a little unwilling to let him go back, as he had only enjoyed their company for 2 weeks after months of no contact. They went to bed that night and the next day, when he was scheduled to leave, Sofia was tearing up.

"My baby is leaving again. For months on end! An owl with a letter every week isn't enough!"

He gave her a wry smile. "Maman. You know that non-magicals cannot even see the school let alone enter it."

She pouted as he explained. "I just want to see how my darling son is doing and meet all of his friends. You've always had a problem making friends, Archer. While I approve of you working hard in your studies, you also must learn to relax and have fun. You are too serious, and I get worried when I see you pushing yourself so hard."

He cringed. Perhaps he had become too intense with his training. Sadly, he couldn't explain the situation and his plans to his parents, no matter how badly he wanted to. Taking on a murderous Dark Lord and the possibility of dying in the process would not go over well with them. Having people that genuinely cared for his well-being forced him to think from a new perspective he previously never had to consider.

He did his best to not think about it as he addressed her concerns. "Tell you what, Maman. I will find a store in Place Cachee that sells magical cameras and owl order one. I'll take several photos of the school and my friends so you can see them.

You'll be able to see the beauty of Beauxbatons firsthand. I can also plan a gathering over summer and invite all my friends so you can meet them and their families. How does that sound?"

Sofia smiled. "That sounds wonderful, darling. Make sure to take plenty of pictures for us. I'm sure we can work something out to host your friends and their families. Goodness knows we have enough spare rooms in the chateau."

Jean nodded along. "Like your mother said, take plenty of pictures and make sure to tell your friends to get permission from their parents. We can put something together once they RSVP."

With that out of the way, they spent the next few minutes chatting as the time for the portkey activation neared. At the designated time, the portkey glowed blue as it became active. He stood up and walked over to his trunk.

Before he left, he walked over and gave his parents a hug. "I'll be sure to do what we talked about. I'll make sure I study hard and get good results, but I promise to also not push myself too hard."

They both nodded and bid him farewell.

Grabbing his trunk, he spoke the activation words and was whisked away.

Within seconds, his feet hit the ground as he found himself in the same place he had arrived when he first came to Beauxbatons. Walking out of the building, he made his way to the dorms. Entering his dorm, he found Tony and Louis relaxing in the living room. They both excitedly greeted him.

Tony walked over and gave him a hug. "Hey man! How was your break? Did you like my gift? I found the book in my family's library, and my parents said they had copies so sending you one was okay."

Tony had sent him a book entitled Practical Charms for the Wayfaring Wizard. It was an interesting tome that detailed some obscure Charms that weren't useful when exploring foreign places. He had enjoyed reading it whenever he wasn't training.

"Yeah, I got the book. I loved it. It was so interesting, and I learned some new Charms that I feel would be useful to know. I can teach them to you if you'd like?"

Tony grinned. "That'll be cool. Merlin knows I wouldn't be able to read that massive book."

Louis approached them both. "Archer! I didn't really know what to get you, and Javier said that sweets are the standard gift. Did you like them?"

He grinned as he remembered opening Louis' gift. His mother had squealed in fright when the Chocolate Frog had jumped out of its carton and into her hair. He and his father had laughed themselves hoarse as the frog chased her around the living room.

The shopping trip they made the following day had been torturous. He had never been inside a lingerie store before, and it had been the most uncomfortable experience in his life. Sofia had been extremely vindictive and thoroughly embarrassed him for two hours as the women in the store looked on in amusement as he squirmed. Still, it had been worth it.

"My parents and I loved your gift, Louis. We had a lot of fun discovering the wonders of magical sweets. The Chocolate Frogs were by far my favorite."

Louis laughed. "I'm glad you all liked them. Shopping for them was hard. There are so many different sweets. I didn't even know it was possible to have that many varieties. I found that the Licorice Wands were my favorite, and my parents loved the Cauldron Cakes."

The door swung open as the fourth member of their dorm walked in. Javier greeted them excitedly. "Hello all! How was your break? Mine was absolutely amazing!"

They greeted him and he started sharing the details of his vacation. "My family went on a trip to New York City in America. Did you know that the Statue of Liberty is a magical artifact? The entire inside of the statue is lined with runes that power a gigantic Anti-Apparition Ward that covers the entire East Coast!

It's powered by Gubraithian Fire, and not just the standard enchanted kind. This one was said to have been bestowed by a phoenix who owed a favor to the Immortal Alchemist Nicolas Flamel. It blessed the fire with a feather and a few tears, turning it into the Phoenix variant of the traditional Gubraithian Fire!

To the non-magicals, it looks like the flame is a metal piece of the sculpture, but magicals can see them in all their glory. It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen!"

Javier was on a roll as he listed off several other famous locations he visited in the Big Apple.

The bit about the Statue of Liberty was interesting, as he had never heard any mention of it in his previous reality. A massive Anti-Apparition Ward to keep magicals from illegally entering the US? That was something that would require further research, maybe a trip to go and see how they did it, seeing as it was still working well to this day.

He could imagine several applications for such immensely strong Anti-Apparition Wards. When it came to the war, getting such wards on important locations like areas of operations, forward operating bases, and tactical operations centers. That way, you could rest safe in the fact that it would take a significant amount of effort for an enemy to gain entry.

He stuck around, talking with them for the next couple of hours as they learned about each other's breaks. After enjoying a nice dinner, they retired for the night and prepared for classes the following day.

His first lesson with Desjardin showed that the second half of the year would be busy. A schedule of what they would be learning had been overviewed for the first couple of minutes, and he was surprised by how comprehensive it was. In his first year at Hogwarts, they hadn't even bothered to cover several Charms that Desjardin had listed.

He couldn't even recognize some of the ones that Desjardin had mentioned they would work towards mastery in. Then again, his entire repertoire had been far more advanced and specialized for warfare rather than simple tasks.

They started going over the theory of the first charm they would be learning and by the end of the class, they were let go with a small assignment. Half a sheet of parchment that summarized the theory they had been lectured about.

Their second class was one he was looking forward to. Thebault had mentioned that she would work with him by giving him harder assignments that would push him to extend his casting capabilities.

The class went well, as they were now trying to learn the basic Switching spell, which only targeted two objects. It was a little tedious to be stuck in the class, but when it came to the practical, he had aced it in the first try. Thebault had nodded and let him help his friends.

After the lesson ended, she kept him behind and asked him about his decision after their meeting.

"So Archer, have you come to a decision about your advanced studies?"

"Yes, Professor Thebault. Thank you for the offer. I sincerely accept it with gratitude and hope to make you proud."

She smiled. "Now, now Archer. None of that. As I said earlier, feel free to call me Laura when its just the two of us. There is no need for formalities."

He persisted. "Nevertheless, it is a privilege to be able to study under someone as accomplished as you are. I will take our extra lessons seriously and study hard. Hopefully, we can solve my problem and move forward."

She held out her hand. "Then let us make it official. I, Laura Lisa Thebault, Mistress of the Transfiguration Masters Guild, hereby extend an offer of assistantship to Archer Beaufort. To study the noble art of Transfiguration under my guidance."

Archer hesitated for a second before grasping the offered hand. "I, Archer Beaufort, accept the offer of assistantship to study the noble art of Transfiguration under Mistress Laura Lisa Thebault. So mote it be."

"So mote it be" Laura echoed.

A flash of magic settled between them as he could feel a magical bond forming.

He looked at her in curiosity.

She seemed to read his mind as she started explaining what just happened. "Don't worry Archer, the magical bond you felt forming between us is quite standard for those who enter into assistantships. Should I take on more assistants, the same bond would form between me and each of them."

He nodded. "What's the difference between an assistantship and an apprenticeship?"

"An apprenticeship can most accurately be described as a magical contract between a master of a field of magic and a person who seeks to learn from the master. This bond is much deeper and has more legal ramifications than a standard assistantship.

As of right now, you are considered by French magical law to be a non-magical born student, regardless of your true ancestry. Once you accepted the letter to attend Beauxbatons, you were assigned a Department Head to become your de facto magical guardian.

If you get into any legal trouble, they will work with you to help you understand the situation and represent you and your interests when dealing with the Ministry. That situation is very rare though, as most non-magical born students are not able to meet the minimum threshold for acceptance to Beauxbatons. In your year, there are only 2 other non-magical born students, your friend Mr. Dreyfus being one of them.

Don't worry, they have no access to anything related to your finances or the like. They are purely there in an advisory role, but it's mostly turned into an honorary position, so to speak. No real power other than in legal matters.

An apprenticeship effectively means that a student studying under a master becomes their ward. The master essentially takes the role of a parent and is responsible for the conduct of their apprentice. On the other hand, the apprentice is expected to follow the master's rules and never betray them or their interests to others.

The contract has become much more legal as the years progressed, but back when academic institutions didn't exist, apprenticing under a master was the only way to learn a skill. The magical oath of apprenticeship made sure that both parties were protected when entering a formal relationship. Think of it as a magical prenup if you will."

He was surprised at how official it all sounded. "Have you ever had an apprentice?"

Laura shook her head. "Not at all, Archer. I'm still much to new to the guild to formally take on an apprentice. While technically I could do so the moment the panel gifted me my Mastery, it is expected for me to first establish my position before thinking about teaching others."

Archer smiled. "Well then, I thank you for making the offer official. Would you be free to meet with me tomorrow to work out a schedule for my studies?"

"Of course, Archer. Now go get some lunch. It wouldn't do to attend class on an empty stomach."

He thanked her again before heading off to the Dining Chamber.

He was lost in thought as he made his way down the corridor. Laura's offer had come as a pleasant surprise. Having access to her knowledge would help him overcome his current struggles. Besides, learning the theory would be an advantage in the long run.

As he was considering his new situation, he turned the corner and felt something collide with his chest. A short squeak sounded out as the person who ran into him fell back. He immediately apologized as he bent down to check if the person was ok.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention. Are you okay?"

The person he had bumped into was a girl. She was short, with long platinum blond hair that was tied into an elegant braid. Her features were sharp with almond shaped eyes and high cheekbones. It was her eyes that drew him in. They looked like gleaming sapphires alight with innocence and curiosity.

As their eyes met, he felt something deep inside him awaken. A longing he had forgotten existed. His eyes widened as he realized that he knew exactly who this girl was.

The girl got up with a grin. "It's fine. I was also not paying attention. Who are you? My name is Fleur Delacour. Are you a first year? Do you want to be friends?"

His breath caught in his chest as he stared. He had avoided searching for her ever since he arrived at Beauxbatons. Fleur had been his first true love. A strong and proud woman who had stood up to defend others when she didn't have to. She had everything to lose by staying with him, and yet she had willingly made the choice to fight alongside him.

The Fleur of this world was not his Fleur. She was nothing but a cruel facsimile that would only torment him with her likeness. Fleur was dead, and this little girl he had bumped into was not her. She was never going to be her. Yet there she was in miniature form.

He remembered their first meeting and how their relationship had changed after he had rescued Gabrielle from the lake during the Second Task.

They had bonded and shared a bit about their childhoods. Fleur had mentioned that Veela look very young until a certain age when they undergo their Veela maturity. In the span of a single night, they will go from looking like a child to an older teenager.

Fleur had oftentimes spoke of how she had struggled forming friendships as her friends all grew older and more mature. Her third year had apparently been the worst, when all her friends had left her because she still looked like a little girl. Until she had come into her maturity at 15, she had been exceedingly lonely and cried herself to sleep many times.

It was eerie to have memories of an older Fleur explaining her childhood to him and seeing Fleur as a child in front of him. He could hear the desperation in her tone when she asked him whether he wanted to be friends with her. It honestly reminded him a lot of his own childhood before Hogwarts.

A war was being waged in his mind as he struggled to answer her. A part of him was screaming to say no and get out of there. That this was not his Fleur, the woman he fell in love with, and that she would never be that woman with the changes he would make.

Another side argued that this was his chance to fix things and make sure that Fleur was happy and stayed alive. Who knew whether one day, he would learn to love this reality's Fleur like his previous one?

Their eyes were locked onto each other as he opened and closed his mouth repeatedly. He needed to decide quickly.

Fleur's enthusiasm subsided as she no doubt saw the indecisive look in his eyes. Her entire figure drooped in sadness as he saw her eyes twitching. She looked ready to cry, and that was what made him take a leap of faith.

"I would love to be your friend, Fleur. My name is Archer Beaufort, and as you guessed, I am indeed a first year."

Almost instantly, her dreary demeanor did a 360 as a brilliant smile lit up her face with joy. "Hello Archer! I'm so glad to be your friend! Do you want to go get lunch together?" she asked excitedly as she grabbed his hand.

The moment after she said that, she suddenly became shy. "It's okay if you don't want to. We just met after all."

He flinched as he felt her soft palm grasp his. The feeling was surreal and at the same time, so satisfying. It felt like he had regained something he didn't know he had lost. This feeling only served to strengthen his conviction that he made the right choice.

He grasped her hand reassuringly. "I would love to, Fleur. Lead the way."

She beamed as she started making her way towards the cafeteria, dragging him behind her.

The next hour was a blur as they talked. They spoke about everything from their favorite color and subject to their family and what their parents did. She was surprisingly knowledgeable about the non-magical world and managed to recognize his father's name.

Apparently, her family's main businesses were in enchanting, specifically metal charming. This meant they required a lot of refined alloys made up of specific metals. They received all their materials through a partnership with Beaufort Metals, the leading metallurgical company in all of France. She had been stunned to find out that his family was the one that owned the company.

She had left for class with a promise to meet up in the evening, leaving him in deep contemplation about what he had just done. With his acceptance of her offer, he had irreversibly changed her future. Messing with the future would make whatever knowledge he had obsolete, but damn if he didn't want to try.

The pain she had suffered from being rejected by nearly all her peers had affected her for the rest of her life. This held true even after her Veela maturity, as she realized that she would be isolated regardless of her looks. It was the reason why she had been insulting and snooty. She had developed an independent streak and was loath to ever trust others fully.

He had broken down the barriers she had erected around her heart, but that had taken years. Sadly, by the time they were able to realize how much they loved each other, she was taken from him.

The interaction they had just shared had completely redefined her future personality, and he was unsure if that was a good thing. The Fleur he had known could take care of herself due to being ostracized by virtually the entire female population at Beauxbatons. If this one developed a dependence on him, would she still be able to protect herself should the need arise?

'Screw that! I can teach her. She was always brilliant, I'm sure she could learn quickly under my tutelage.'

After some thought, he resolved himself to his path. He would feel better if Fleur knew how to defend herself. Knowing what she would face, he would have to be a cruel bastard to leave her to her fate.

Getting up, he walked towards his next class, satisfied that he had changed this reality for the better.

The months ticked by, as he fell into his routine. The only difference being that lunch with Fleur was now a daily occurrence. The more they talked, the more he started feeling comfortable with her. Although she wasn't exactly the Fleur he remembered, he could see hints of the woman she would become shine through every now and then.

His assistantship had started, and Laura was proving to be an excellent master. Despite the severity with which she conducted herself in the classroom, she was quite laid back during their private lessons. Laura was a fount of knowledge, giving him insights into advanced Transfiguration theory while mixing in bits of general knowledge that shaped the field as they knew it.

Discussions like the one they had before Winter Break had become commonplace. They formally introduced themselves to each other, and he found that if not for the fact that Laura wasn't adopted, they had quite a lot in common.

They both came from wealthy families, with parents who loved them unconditionally. Their shared interest in Alchemy was something he had been surprised by. He had never had the chance to explore the field in his previous life. She had always been fascinated by the permanence of transmutation as opposed to transfigured constructs. Laura's Mastery Thesis on conjured elements had been an intellectual pursuit related to Alchemy, as it involved the combination of the elements to change matter.

The one thing he hadn't predicted was Florian becoming unbearable. News of his assistantship had been leaked after one of the staff had questioned his Laura's frequent meetings. That had set off a bunch of different rumors floating around the school that Florian did his best to exaggerate. Laura's young age did not help matters as numerous aspersions were cast towards her supposed preference for young boys.

The staff had to make an official announcement and inform the students that Laura was well within her right as a certified Transfiguration Mistress to take on an assistant or apprentice who was still attending school. They had even gone so far as to say that anyone caught slandering her would be subject to detentions and loss of privileges.

Headmistress Maxime also mentioned that if they studied hard and showed promise, they all had a chance of impressing a professor enough to attain a formal apprenticeship.

His friends had been very happy for him, as was almost all his classmates. His willingness to help others had paid off in spades, as he had become acquainted with most of the people in his year. In fact, their defense of him when they heard the rumors had been vociferous. Florian's attempts to damage his reputation had backfired gloriously.

After that small bit of drama, the rest of the year went by swiftly. He put forth a lot of effort into his studies and Occlumency practice, and he had enjoyed the fruits of his labor. He managed to get through most of the war against Voldemort and was in between the space of time when the demons were summoned.

The memories of his lessons in Runes and Dark Arts taught to him by Salazar, the control exercises he had mastered as well as the enhancement rituals he had painstakingly undergone under Morgana's supervision, and his time studying under the Master Cursebreaker of the Goblin Nation had all come back to him.

He thought back to the memories he had relived under Morgana and couldn't help but shiver. She had been a harsh taskmaster, but his prowess in magic was all due to her extensive teachings. Out of all his teachers, she had been with him the longest, and had the most profound impact on both his life and the war.

_His training with Morgana had officially started. She had started by refreshing his foundations. Following a preliminary assessment of his strength, control, knowledge, and spell repertoire, they started to plan his training. With the massive increase in power from unsealing the binds on his magic, he was constantly overpowering his spells. He had never had access to that much raw energy before, so he threw all he had into every spell. While his nontrivial amount of power allowed him to do so with few consequences, Morgana had pointed out some fatal flaws in that strategy. "Harrison, while you are powerful, you lack the proper control that a skilled wizard should have. If you are in a battle and you constantly overpower your spells, you will get tired very quickly. _

_Granted, you would last longer than the average witch or wizard, but against someone like Voldemort, this method of fighting simply will not work. Your goal is to defeat him. You must train hard enough to do so and fight every opponent as if they were Voldemort himself. _

_The only way you'll gain experience is if you go out and fight, but I want you to first undergo the enhancement rituals before actively engaging the enemy. I'll have more confidence in your survival once you've undergone all of them and trained with the Goblin Weapons Master." _

_Harry had quickly been humbled as he struggled with the exercises. He had felt the amount of power he held and thought that he was able to face off against Voldemort, only to find out that power wasn't everything. Morgana's training had started with casting first-year spells. The Wand-Lighting Charm, Lumos, was the first Charm that every Hogwarts student learned._

_Morgana asked him to maintain a light that barely lit up the tip of his wand as if it was a firefly in the night. He had thought it was easy until he nearly blinded himself when he first cast it. His power flowed through his basilisk wand with ease as a bright flare of light ignited at the end of his wand. _

_His magic buzzed happily as it flooded his wand, maintaining the intensity of the light. He had struggled for almost 10 minutes to get it back under control. _

_Looking back up, he saw Morgana smirking at him. "Not so easy is it? I know the feeling, Harrison. Your magic wishes to be free and sings to you when you use it. Those with power like ours often connect with our magic on a deeper level than most. _

_We feel it communicate with us and we yearn to set it free. The purpose of this exercise is to be able to work with your magic and turn the currently raging rapids, into a placid lake. You can still listen to your magic, but you must control it, and not the other way around. It is a difficult lesson. _

_One every wizard must learn." _

_Despite the inherent simplicity of the exercise, he had taken almost a week to finally master it. Morgana had applauded his efforts and then gone on to make his life miserable. _

_"Well done, Harrison. You have finally mastered the controlled Wand-Lighting Charm. Now, I'm simply going to add a small variation on top of the exercise. While maintaining the same intensity, I want you to make the light flicker on and off. _

_Every time you turn the light back on, you must return to the same intensity immediately. Kind of like a Muggle light switch. It must be instantaneous and consistent. Good luck." She had smirked as he confidently started to practice. _

_He had gotten frustrated as hell as almost a week and a half went by with limited success. One day when he was feeling frustrated, he had inadvertently found the answer to mastering the exercise. The feeling of frustration had been affecting him, so he had retreated behind his Occlumency shields to contain his anger. _

_Attempting the exercise for the umpteenth time, he realized that he succeeded. A feeling of accomplishment at his breakthrough overwhelmed him. He already knew how to get to the same intensity every single time, he just needed to keep his magic flowing to sustain the spell and recreate what he did in the first exercise. Once he realized the main principle, he succeeded within a day. _

_Morgana had congratulated him again as she described the purpose of the exercise._

_"Exceptional casting, Harrison! Now, you know how to keep just a sliver of magic necessary to maintain a spell and instantly readjust the power, as necessary. I think we can now move on to the harder concepts." _

_Looking back, he had teared up a little as he settled in for the long slog towards the finish. They had started exercising with the Levitation Charm, starting with maintaining a ball at a certain height. Adding the same variation as the previous exercise, then adding more balls to levitate at the same time. _

_By the end, he was able to levitate nearly 12 balls and form different patterns with them, all with his eyes closed. Morgana had added on a section about focusing his intent and trusting his magic to properly execute his will. She had mentioned that this was the principal foundation of all wandless magic, something they would study in-depth later. _

Those exercises had proved priceless, and he hadn't wasted anytime incorporating the control exercises in his daily training. He could feel the improvement in his control as he was able to condense his magical aura till it was buzzing right beneath his skin.

As he walked out of the final exam he would sit for the year, he felt at ease. His training was intense but was paying off in more ways than one. His Occlumency had given him several more precious resources he could use to protect his loved ones from Voldemort. All in all, his life was going exceptionally well.

While previously he would only think that such a thing would never last, he did not feel that was the case now. Despite how foreign it felt, he was Archer Beaufort, and he was put onto this Earth for a reason. Whether it was to stop Voldemort or not, he wasn't sure, but regardless of the specifics, he felt that he would be ready when the time came to carry out whatever plan Fate had for him.

After a formal Farewell Feast, he bid his Fleur and his roommates goodbye before he left for the summer. Upon his arrival, he was smothered by his mother in a tight hug. His father stood by his side, ruffling his hair affectionately. He returned her hug with closed eyes and a gentle smile on his face.

This was what he was training to protect, and Mother Magic have mercy on any fool who tried to take this from him.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So as I promised, tried to stay away from the angst as much as I could this chapter as I work towards building Archer up. Laura is an OC who will play a big role in Archer's years at Beauxbatons. Also, she will not be the only professor who will have a large impact on our hero and his future.

We finally met Fleur, and I hope to flesh out her character in future chapters through more frequent interactions between her and Archer. We will be meeting Rose Potter next chapter, so look forward to getting some of your questions answered.

I apologize for the rather sporadic update schedule, I've been struggling with more work being piled on top of what I'm already responsible for. Story of my life. Finding time to write had been hard, and I've honestly stayed up way too late too many times the past couple of weeks. Hopefully come late September when development is finished on our project, things will relax a little.

I'm still genuinely surprised I managed to get nearly 8200 words out with how little time I had to write. I guess this chapter just flowed better, and honestly should have been part of the previous chapter. Still, I enjoy writing this story, and hope you all enjoy reading it.

Thank you all for sticking with me. See you hopefully this weekend.

Cheers,

AltruousAlliterator


	8. The Girl Who Lived

Archer sat in his room, mentally reviewing the end of the year. He had accomplished a lot in the short span of a few months. His study under Laura were going well and he was proving to be a prodigy in the field, as she often remarked.

As he had promised his parents, he had ordered and received a magical camera from a store in Place Cachee. It was a big and clunky machine that was rather unwieldy. It reminded him a lot of the large format non-magical cameras, except this one had a built-in flash and lacked the bellows.

It had taken some practice to accustom himself with the controls, but he found that operating it was simple. There was no need to manually focus, as the lens was enchanted in a way that it never lost focus. Controls for shutter speed and aperture normally found on non-magical cameras was absent. Simply put, it was truly a "point and shoot" camera.

His roommates had been thrilled with his idea of documenting their journey at Beauxbatons. He became the groups unofficial photographer, taking photos of the numerous excursions they made across the expansive grounds of the Beauxbatons campus.

He made sure to capture the opulence of the Dining Chamber both when it was mostly empty and when it was packed to the brim. He had wandered over to the stables and photographed the majestic Abraxan horses that dwelled there.

Fleur also featured prominently in several of the photos mailed back to his parents. That had gotten him a good amount of ribbing when he came home a few weeks back. His father had mockingly shed a few tears while claiming his boy was becoming a man so quickly. His mother hadn't been very amused by that remark and had taken to questioning him about his friendship with all the girls in his year.

He had initially entertained her by answering to the best of his abilities, but it had slowly become an annoyance. He understood why she was worried. He had explained to them the different physiology and maturation process for magicals, and it had thrown them for a loop. They were out of there element as non-magicals, so paranoia had become the new normal.

His mother constantly made sure to stress how he had to be respectful to girls and wait until they were both ready for a relationship. Which, according to his mother, wouldn't happen for a "very long time if she had anything to say about it". Her concerns were equal parts heartwarming and unnecessary, seeing as he felt zero attraction towards any of the girls in his year.

Fleur was a in weird zone of uncertainty, where she was very pretty but his memories were preventing him from forming any real thoughts of attraction towards her. When he saw her, he thought of the fierce, prideful, and aloof beauty he had met in his 4th year and gotten to know over the course of the war. The juxtaposition between the fierce warrior he remembered her to be and the child he saw in front of him was disconcerting and confusing.

She was in her second year and had seemingly lost all her friends due to her childish looks. He understood why her friends had slowly abandoned her. With the rather obvious physical changes that manifested in human magicals due to their secondary magical maturation, their thinking would be affected by the hormones as well. Hence, her roommates' interests had switched to boys and relationships.

He couldn't even count how many times Fleur had complained about her roommates' vapid conversations about boys and dating. According to her, they spent a lot more time worrying about their hair, dress, and makeup than their school assignments. It annoyed her to no end how they didn't involve her due to her childish looks.

To be fair, she did look a lot like an innocent young child that was too young to be interested in those kinds of topics. He never informed her of his opinion on the matter, however. He didn't have a death wish, and Fleur's temper could be volatile despite her short stature.

Putting Fleur aside, he had been receiving a lot of correspondence from the others in his year. He mostly received wizarding candy along with short letters expressing their thanks for helping them with their studies. While many of his classmates found it easy to cast spells with a decent amount of practice, the finer points of the theory sometimes eluded them.

He had noticed this from the beginning of his second semester, when the workload had increased substantially. Their professors had started to stress the theoretical parts of the subject as that would be where the students were heavily tested on in the end of year exams.

To combat this lack of confidence in theory, he had announced study sessions where he would help them study for the theoretical parts of the exam and practice the applied magic portion. His roommates had always been the first to show up, as they had seen firsthand how skilled he was with the material.

As the months went by, more and more people started joining the sessions until almost his entire year had shown up to his lectures in Transfiguration theory. When his position as an assistant to Laura was outed, many had begun to recognize how talented he was in the field. What started with a small group of 6 or 7, turned into a huge gathering of nearly 160 plus students.

Laura had been impressed by the size of the crowds he had drawn and taken to sitting in on his lectures to see if he was understanding the material well. In her words, "the most comprehensive way to measure your understanding of a topic was to teach it to others". The fact that so many had even bothered to take the time to attend the sessions showed that he was at the very least a good teacher.

Oftentimes, Laura would review the lecture he gave and give some constructive feedback on whether he could expand on a certain topic, or she gave him a simpler analogy to use when communicating a complex concept.

The large gathering drew the attention of the other professors and he remembered how anxious he had been when the Head of the Transfiguration Department, Bertrand Renaud attended one of his lectures. Despite his nerves, the lecture had been concluded without a hitch. When he was packing up, Renaud approached him.

He was an imposing man, with a tall and stocky build. He was dressed in older style of traditional black Wizarding robes with gold lining that accentuated his broad shoulders. He had a slightly tanned complexion that was marred with several frown lines. From the few times he had seen him during the feasts, Archer could tell he was a very serious person.

He had every right to be, as he was a well-respected figure in the Transfiguration Masters Guild. He had earned his mastery under Grandmaster Johann Schwarzkopf, a legendary master who had fundamentally changed the way Transfiguration was viewed as a field. Under his mentorship, Renaud showed himself to be a quick study. By the end of his apprenticeship, Renaud had put forth and proven a theory of his that went on to become what was currently known as Renaud's Law of Conjured Animate Constructs.

The law stated that any animate being that was conjured from non-being had two tendencies. To return to a state of non-being, and act as defined by nature and not the conjurer's will. He had essentially postulated and proven that all magically conjured animals would seek to dissipate and without any method of control, default to behavior normally observed in the wild.

He had brushed upon it during his studies with Laura, but the true significance of the law had been lost on him until he met the man who created it. Renaud had praised his ability to simplify the concepts in Transfiguration and offered him some advice on how he could improve. During their conversation, Archer brought up the law and asked about how he had tested the claim.

Renaud had obliged and given him a rundown of how wild magic affected conjured animals. While it was a sophisticated concept to wrap his head around, he nonetheless managed to understand the basics.

The reason such a law hadn't existed in his previous reality, was because wizards were using magic that had been internalized and unique to them. So, when an animal was conjured, it automatically acted exactly as the conjurer wished, with no other spells necessary.

In this reality, due to wild magic being channeled to create the animal, it acted exactly as the animal would in nature, and not how the conjurer wanted. This was a distinction that really demonstrated how large of an affect the difference in spellcasting had on the development of laws and theories.

Renaud had been impressed with his understanding of a complex law of Transfiguration and had given him permission to seek him out if Laura was ever unavailable. It was an offer that he would make use of in the future, as Laura might get busy with her efforts to prove her theory.

Desjardin had been pleasantly surprised by his interest in duelling and in turn, had surprised him as well with his knowledge of the non-magical world. He reflected on the meeting with a bittersweet feeling.

_He stood outside the office as he took stock of his uniform. Seeing nothing out of place, he brushed off an imaginary piece of lint from his should before standing up straight and knocking on the door._

_Waiting a couple of seconds, he heard a muffled "Come in!" _

_Twisting the doorknob, he walked in and greeted the professor. "Good afternoon, Professor Desjardin. How are you today?"_

_Desjardin grinned. "Ah, Mr. Beaufort! I am doing very well today. How about yourself?"_

"_Busy with studying, professor. As you know, all my classmates are preparing for the final exams next week. All the upper years have been telling us how hard they are going to be, especially yours."_

_He laughed heartily. "Nonsense! They're just trying to scare you kids. So long as you all study the material mentioned in the packet handed out at the beginning of the week, there's no reason anyone should get less than an Exceeds Expectations. _

_In your case, I wouldn't even bother worrying about it. Your skill in the practical assures me that you have a deep knowledge of the underlying theory behind the Charms you will be asked to demonstrate. I will be quite surprised if you get anything other than an Outstanding! You are my best student after all!"_

_Archer gave him a shy smile. "Thank you for your praise, Professor. However, I don't think it's fair to say that I'm your best student though, as I've seen several others succeed in your class when it comes to the spells."_

_Desjardin waved his hand. "Now, now, Archer. There is no need to be modest. While many others have proven to be skilled in the practical portion of the subject, few can claim to be able to cast the spells silently in their first year. The fact that you can even accomplish such a thing shows the amount of practice and dedication you put into learning. Don't be shy, my boy. Embrace your exceptionalism!"_

_Being complimented by his professor felt good. Even if he had several years of Charms theory in his head, it still did nothing to take away from the fact that he had to put in hard work to regain his skill. Not to mention working around how differently magic worked in this reality. _

_It was a foreign feeling, seeing as most of the years he spent at Hogwarts were with professors who all decided that he wasn't worth the effort after two disastrous years where he had been a mediocre student. _

_To this day it blew his mind that none of them bothered to sit him down and talk to him about why he might be slacking. His parents had been prodigies in their field, so much so that the professors often mentioned them to him repeatedly. Despite that, his lackluster performance had not drawn any suspicion, and it was chalked down to him being an average wizard that didn't inherit the skills of his parents._

_Even his favorite professor, Filius Flitwick had never bothered interacting with him outside of class. With his skill in duelling, he could have easily reached out to him during his fifth year running the DA. When he had relived those moments during Occlumency training, it made his blood boil that the supposedly well read and wise professor had chosen to not pass on his skills. So many lives could have potentially been saved if they had gained even a single month of dedicated training from him._

_He lightly shook his head to get him out of his somber mood. He needed to focus on getting Desjardin open to the idea of training him. A lot of his plans depended on him getting some sort of formal training to justify his skills. It would also serve as proper training for what was to come._

"_Thank you for your compliment. I came here today because I wanted to learn more about something you have a lot of experience in. On our first day, when you introduced yourself, you mentioned that you were a World Champion duellist. _

_I have done some research about duelling and found myself very interested in competing. I've read a couple of books on the subject and wanted to learn more when I remembered your background. How exactly can I learn more about duelling? Do you have any resources that I can use to practice?"_

_Desjardin's genial smile disappeared as soon as he heard the explanation. His eyes sharpened as his gaze took on a piercing quality. His face adopted a blank expression, one that looked very intimidating and cold. It was a huge departure from the normally jovial and carefree expression Desjardin wore when teaching and interacting with students. The atmosphere of the room suddenly stilled with his metamorphosis._

"_You are interested in duelling, you say? Tell me, Mr. Beaufort. What do you truly know about duelling?"_

_If he did not have the memories of his past, he would have been utterly terrified of even being in the same room as this man. Then again, after facing Voldemort several times, not many things could scare him anymore. Though, whether that was a positive thing was debatable._

_He forced himself to stay calm and not react to Desjardin's abrupt shift in temperament as he replied. "Duelling is a sport in the magical world that has its traditions rooted in the ancient magical kingdom of Camelot. It was used as a method of resolving disputes and as a form of entertainment. There are certain traditions from that time that are observed to this day, such as the initial bow to the opponent. _

_Paces used to be measured in the past, but with the introduction of the ICW's Duelling Committee, the format of competition was standardized. Only formal wizarding duels involve that aspect nowadays._

_The magic used in a duel is regulated heavily by the committee, with different rules being present depending on the tournament in question. The U-15 International Tournament is the one with the most restricting rules on the scope of magic available to the duellist. These restrictions are slowly relaxed when it comes to the U-17 and U-19 tournaments, culminating to a free for all in the professional circuit. _

_The only thing that is standard across all the tournaments is that only spells not considered Dark by the ICW are allowed. Any spells that causes permanent injuries are not allowed, and the penalty for breaching that rule is disqualification from tournaments and a stay in prison."_

_Desjardin had kept his piercing gaze trained towards him during his explanation, but it hadn't bothered him that much. Once finished, he leaned back and awaited Desjardin's reply._

_An uncomfortable tension built up during the silence, and it was taking a lot of effort to stay still. After what seemed like an eternity, Desjardin opened his mouth. "A very concise explanation that hits all the key points. You certainly seem to have done your research, Mr. Beaufort. However, that is not the answer I was looking for. _

_Yes, formats and guidelines have been established for competitions' sake, but that is not the true nature of duelling. A duel is a battle between two magicals. Simple as that. It is a no holds barred fight for supremacy between you and your opponent. _

_While it has been reduced to a sport in the last couple of centuries, its roots lie in violent conflict. The fates of entire families were decided by the result of a single duel. Wars have been won and lost all over a single duel. It is a time-honored tradition that has reaped the lives of both the noblest and unscrupulous men throughout history. _

_My interest in duelling started in a similar fashion when I witnessed a pensieve memory of a match starring the seven-time World Duelling Champion Filius Flitwick. I approached my Charms teacher with my interest, and he gave me the same advice that I will give you right now. Duelling is a chaotic sport where the possibility of death is ever present, until you are ready to embrace that risk, do not pursue it in any manner._

_While competitions have become a lot safer than they once were, when it comes to the U-19 and professional tournaments, death is something that occurs occasionally. In fact, I was very nearly killed in my first year on the professional circuit. Do not be fooled by the glamour that people have given it. It takes years of effort to build the necessary skills and one mistake could mean your demise."_

_It was startling how serious Desjardin was in his response. Whatever little he had learned about formal duelling had been through Julius and Gellert, both of whom were highly skilled duellists of their respective generations. While some of it had been useful, learning the guidelines and limitations on spells had been unfeasible during the war. _

_His squad had cut a bloody path across Europe while fighting Voldemort's forces. Mercy and spell limitations had been thrown out the window for ruthless efficiency. The brutality they inflicted upon the enemy had earned them a reputation that rivaled the Death Eaters during the height of the first Blood War. _

_None of that would have been achieved if Dumbledore's inane policy of mercy and non-lethality had been enforced. The same went for limiting his spell repertoire out of some misguided sense of honor._

_To address Desjardin's concern, he had seen Death, and interacted with her several times. While he could never tell him that little fact, he could give him a convincing enough argument. _

_Straightening up and giving the coldest glare he could muster, Archer spoke. "I appreciate your advice, Professor. However, I can comfortably say that I am aware of the risks when it comes to duelling. If I were not confident that I understood the situation, I would not have bothered approaching you for help. The question is, are you prepared to help me once you realize how serious I am?"_

_Desjardin's expression wavered for a second as he met his glare. Their staring contest continued for a short while before it was broken by a light chuckle. It was as if the man who was icily questioning his motives disappeared in a flash, as Desjardin smiled._

"_My, my. It seems there is much more to you than meets the eye, Mr. Beaufort. I will admit I underestimated the strength of your conviction. Then again, one does not become an international fencing champion without a certain amount of talent for violence."_

_Archer eyes widened as he heard the remark. "You are aware of my fencing background, professor?"_

"_Of course, Mr. Beaufort. We make it a point to conduct background checks on all our students as part of the admissions process. Everything from your family history to your school grades and extracurricular activities._

_We were all pleasantly surprised by how well-rounded you were as an individual. Your private tutors sang your praises, hailing you as a genius. Your instructors in martial arts and fencing spoke vividly of your dedication and swift learning speed. The number of fencing tournaments you won was quite eye-catching, don't you know?"_

_He blinked at the Desjardin's revelation of the professor's being aware of his background. "Surely fencing wouldn't draw so much attention, would it? I would think that non-magical sports were not of much interest to the magical world."_

_Desjardin laughed. "While that is true for some sports, fencing is one of the few exceptions, especially in France. Like duelling, fencing also has a violent history. There are quite a few similarities between the two, as sword fighting has always been a time-honored tradition. _

_In fact, a lot of the older Pureblood families educate their children in the basics of fencing. I'm aware that you make use of the old gymnasium every morning. I'm sure you noticed the fencing platform in the room. _

_There was a time when Beauxbatons educated all students in sword fighting. At one point in history, it was the only viable way to defend oneself without the use of magic in the non-magical world. Nowadays, that has long since ceased to be the case._

_As such, the class that was initially mandatory was scrapped. With the discoveries in temporarily boosting physical prowess with magic, fighting with swords fell out of favor. However, it is still a popular training method to build good habits for footwork and posture in duelling._

_That is why I anticipated this conversation, though I didn't expect you to approach me this early on in your academic career. I was expecting to have this conversation during your third or fourth year."_

_He would never have thought that any of the older Pureblood families would deign to engage in non-magical sports. Then again, it could be because he was used to the snooty English Pureblood families and not the French ones. It was worth researching the background and history of the Pureblood families of France in greater depth, seeing as Laura suspected he was the descendant of one, maybe two._

"_Seeing as I am here early, what do you think of helping me start my duelling career?" _

"_I wish I could, Mr. Beaufort. I can tell that you are serious about pursuing duelling. Based off your track record, I can strongly assume that you will show a great talent for it as well. Sadly, it is not possible for anyone under 13 to register for a tournament. _

_Until you undergo your second magical maturity, it will be detrimental to your magical growth to engage in activities that strain your channeling capacity. It would be extremely irresponsible of me to damage the potential of such an excellent student like yourself. _

_So, while I will point you to some resources you can use to educate and prepare yourself, we can only start truly working towards the goal of competing after your 13__th__ birthday."_

_Archer froze. There it was again. The goddamn magical number 13, preventing him from accomplishing something he wanted to do. This was becoming a very annoying pattern in his life._

_Taking a moment to collect himself and prevent an outburst of pent up frustration, he addressed Desjardin. "Thank you very much for guiding me, professor. While I find myself disappointed at not being able to compete, your offer of training me after my 13__th__ birthday is something I appreciate you making. I look forward to training with you in the future."_

_Desjardin leaned forward and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Mr. Beaufort. Sometimes, it's best not to rush things before we are ready. You are my best student, whether you accept that position or not. I'm certain that you will succeed in anything you put your mind to and will happily train you if your interest in duelling is still there after your 13__th__ birthday."_

_Archer gave a stiff nod. "Thank you very much for your time, Professor Desjardin. I will take your words into consideration."_

"_It is no problem, Mr. Beaufort. Feel free to come to my office hours if you need help with anything."_

_Recognizing the dismissal, he got up and bid Desjardin goodbye before leaving the office and heading straight to his dorm. He went on to study hard for the Charms exam and went on to rank first in his year._

Reflecting on that conversation was difficult for him. He desperately wanted to take a proactive role in preparing for the upcoming war with Voldemort. It was coming. Of that he had no doubt. The details were all inconsequential. It was the endgame that mattered.

Planning for the future kept him up at night. He knew that there was really nothing he could do at this point, other than working as hard as he could to get back up to snuff. Still, he had never been very good at the waiting game. Even in between missions for the IDSC, he was either training or learning. He never took a break if he could help it.

That same mentality of constant work followed him to this new reality. Patience was important, but the number of things he could be doing to offset any disadvantage he had took precedence. As he went through possible scenarios of gaining influence in Britain, a small beep went off next to his bed.

Turning his head to the side, he saw the LEDs in his alarm clock reflecting a large number 12. It was 12:00 AM on July 31st, 1991.

'Happy 12th birthday to me. One more year before I can undergo the Inheritance Ritual at Gringotts and start training under Desjardin.'

It was funny how that was his immediate thought as he realized he was a year older. His feelings about his birthdays had been impacted by his Occlumency training. July 31st was typically a day of suffering for him at the Dursleys. It meant less food, more chores, and a general increase of vindictiveness on the part of Vernon and Petunia. He had long since gotten used to it not being more special than any other day.

This general apathy for his birthday was how he found out that his parents were planning a party for him. They thought they were being so sneaky with the invites, but he had noticed how winded and tired their owl Athena was. She had obviously gotten a decent workout flying to Italy and Spain to deliver the invitations to Tony and Javier.

He took it in stride, seeing as this was the first time they were inviting anyone over. All his previous birthdays were celebrated among themselves, as he had no other friends to speak of. It was a sad thought, and would have affected any other child, but he was not any other child, so it didn't matter to him.

Though, from the excitement and gusto his parents were showing as the day came closer, a thought struck him out of nowhere. How worried had they been about him not having any friends to celebrate with?

Every year they had been satisfied with going on a shopping trip during the day and a nice dinner out. Now that he was attending school and was close with other children, they took it upon themselves to try and throw him a surprise party.

He was genuinely touched by how sincere they were in their intentions. It was at times like those when he thanked whatever cosmic deity gave him such loving parents. His life could have been much worse than it turned out. While he was confident that he could handle whatever Fate threw at him, it was still a blessing to have been adopted by Jean and Sofia.

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. They had put so much effort into his party. The least he could do was act surprised and be awake enough to enjoy it. With that thought in mind, he drifted off to sleep within minutes.

He woke up later than usual as he observed his clock showing 10:30 AM in bright red characters. Getting up, he went through his morning ablutions before heading downstairs. His parents wished him a happy birthday with bright smiles on their faces. Returning their smiles, he gave them both a hug before being distracted by the tantalizing smell coming from the kitchen.

Walking inside, he saw a plate of double chocolate chip pancakes stacked high with fresh strawberries and whipped cream on top.

He grinned at the delectable sight. 'Yep. Today is going to be a great day.'

As Archer was sitting down for breakfast, hundreds of miles away in the United Kingdom, a girl's eyes shot open, alight with excitement.

Her name was Rose Lily Potter, or as the public liked to call her, "The Girl Who Lived". It was quite a morose title for a girl her age to have. It was more accurate to say that she was "The Girl Who Didn't Die".

During the Blood War in the 1970s the British magical community was in a dark place. The self-proclaimed Dark Lord Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters, had slaughtered many people who fought against their views on blood supremacy. To them, Purebloods were superior and more deserving wielders of magic than those of "impure" blood.

Her parents had been one of the most vocal proponents against their worldview, and it had gotten their entire family targeted. Voldemort had attacked Potter Manor, the home of her paternal grandparents and nearly killed them.

Thankfully, her mum and dad had arrived in time to help, but sadly, Voldemort proved too strong. Charlus and Dorea Potter had sacrificed their lives to give her parents enough time to flee. To this day whenever the topic of her grandparents come up, it affected their mood for the worse.

After that life-changing event, they had joined Dumbledore's vigilante group The Order of the Phoenix and really started to fight back. She could never get any details out of them, but some of her parents' friends had given her an idea.

Her mother's temper had become volatile and she earned a reputation of using fire-based spells to burn her opponents to a crisp. It was how she got the nickname Fire Lily, both for her red hair and her skill in fire-based spells.

Her father, on the other hand, had utilized his skill in Transfiguration to devastating effect. Just talking about how he had fought had been difficult for the ones telling her. He had been hailed as a Transfiguration prodigy during his time at Hogwarts, to the point that Britain's premier Transfiguration Mistress Minerva McGonagall had offered him an apprenticeship.

He had declined and signed up with the Aurors, but the fact that she had even offered spoke volumes of his talent. He had developed several Transfiguration based methods to protect himself and his allies on the battlefield. His most famous one was known as the Chain Defense.

With a single pebble or piece of rubble, he would create a chain that protected him against any Dark Curses and spells his opponents cast at him, including the Unforgivables. The broken links that took the spells could then be transfigured into deadly weapons he could send back at his opponents.

The most macabre thing she had ever heard was him blowing Evan Rosier into pieces with a Blasting Curse and then using his remains as a defense against spells. She remembered having thrown up after hearing that, and it had affected the way she saw her father. Those stories had opened her eyes to the inherent cruelty of the war and how it had changed good people. It was hard to confront her parents about their actions, but it had been for the best.

While they were disappointed at having the conversation while she was still young, they had been honest with her about why they had done what they did. Apparently, Sybil Patricia Trelawney, popularly known as Hogwarts' resident fake psychic, had made a prophecy involving her and Neville Longbottom.

That prophecy had been overheard by a Death Eater, who had gone and told Voldemort. He had subsequently started a crusade to find the "child of prophecy". She had the misfortune of being born at the very tail end of the prophesized timeline, so she and her parents were hunted in earnest.

They had gone under an obscure charm called the Fidelius, which relied on a trusted person to keep a secret. Any who weren't told the secret would not be able to remember anything about it. In their case, it had been the location of their cottage in Godric's Hollow. Sadly, they had chosen the wrong man.

Peter Pettigrew had been a close friend of her father since his first year at Hogwarts. His betrayal had blindsided them, and Voldemort had found out about their location. On October 31st, 1981, during the festivities of Samhain, Voldemort attacked their home.

He had spared James because he was of "pure blood", though that was likely an excuse to coerce him into "donating" the Potter fortune to his organization's coffers. With her father out of action, he attempted to kill her mother and her. Her mother had prepared a ritual for that exact situation as a last resort and had activated it to protect her from Voldemort.

The protection ritual had been based on an archaic field of sacrificial magic rooted in love, specifically maternal love. It was one of the most powerful and mysterious of all ancient magics, and something her mother had studied during her brief stint with the Unspeakables after graduating Hogwarts. The ritual required her to willingly sacrifice her life, but things hadn't gone according to plan.

When she had stood in Voldemort's way and initiated the ritual by begging him to kill her instead, he had opted to send a Dark Cutting Curse into her chest. She had crumpled onto the floor and started bleeding profusely, all the while trying to stand back up to finish the ritual.

Voldemort walked over the bleeding form of her mother, up to her crib, and cackled malevolently before casting the Killing Curse at her. For some reason, still unknown to her mother, the ritual activated just in time to shield her. Voldemort's curse was intercepted and then rebounded, vaporizing his body when it struck.

After she had somehow managed to survive the encounter, her Uncles Sirius, Remus, and Headmaster Dumbledore along with the rest of the Order had arrived. Her mother and father had been stabilized before they were portkeyed to St. Mungos hospital. She was taken by Dumbledore to Hogwarts to have Nurse Pomphrey check her over.

When her parents had finally woken up, they had frantically asked for her, and been told that she was safe. After an interview with the Aurors, the news had leaked to the public within minutes that the Dark Lord Voldemort had died after he tried to kill her, and of her miraculous survival against the unstoppable Killing Curse.

That night, she had been christened as The Girl Who Lived by a special, breaking news edition of The Daily Prophet. Her name was on everybody's lips by the next day. People were repeatedly and joyfully toasting her in pubs across Britain. Her status had risen to that of an urban folk hero almost overnight.

Life since the attack had been calm, for the most part. Her parents had taken it upon themselves to protect her from any harm. The incident must have traumatized them badly, seeing as her parents retreated to Potter Manor and sheltered her from the public.

It wasn't even a couple of days before tragedy had struck once again. Frank and Alice Longbottom had been tortured to insanity by Death Eaters searching for their leader. She still had vague memories of the way her parents had broken down upon hearing the gruesome fate of the Longbottoms.

They became so paranoid that her father's old Auror Instructor, Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody, would have been proud. The manor's wards had been set to siege mode, which had quadrupled the defensive measures against any foreign presences.

The list of people who could even access their Floo whittled down to 4, and they spent the next year jumping at every shadow or small noise in the manor. Along with this propensity for overreaction, they always kept her in their sight.

Things had taken a turn for the better once the Death Eater trials had been completed. Her father still felt that several of them who had walked free deserved to be locked up. He was most likely right, seeing as they had gone on to pass their bigoted ideology onto their progeny.

Lucius Malfoy had been the most egregious case of this lack of justice. His son Draco had become a disgusting human being spouting the same rhetoric of the Death Eaters. Ever since she first met the blonde ponce, she had been creeped out by the way he had looked at her. The first time she had met Draco had also been the first time her family had been out in public since the attack.

They had been swarmed by reporters and well-wishers wanting to meet her. Just as they were about to be overrun, in walked Lucius Malfoy and his family. The slimy git had then pretended to help her family out by dispersing the crowd.

The meeting had been wrought with tension as her father had a stare down with him as their wives did the same. Draco Malfoy had leered at and turned up his nose at her, remarking that she "didn't seem like anything special".

Lucius had chided him for his statement and had taken the opportunity to "apologize" as he glared at her. Her father had gotten them out of there fast, but that meeting had been enough for her to categorize that entire family as people to avoid.

Rubbing the grit out of her eyes, she smiled brightly as she tossed the covers off herself. Bounding out of bed and down the stairs, she was greeted to the sight of her mother humming a familiar tune while making some French Toast.

Her father was sitting at the table in his red and gold Gryffindor bathrobe, sipping from a piping hot mug of coffee while perusing the Daily Prophet. Upon seeing her, he set his coffee down and grinned.

"There's the birthday girl! I was wondering whether I would have to wake you up the Marauder way this morning."

She grimaced at the statement. The last time she had received a "Marauder wake-up call", she was hoisted out of bed by her ankles and tickled mercilessly for a half a minute before being drenched in ice-cold water. She did not want to experience that anytime soon.

"One of these days, Dad. I'm going to get you back for that!"

He father chuckled at her threat. "The day you manage to surprise your dear old Dad is the day I willingly admit that I'm old."

Rose scowled before sticking her tongue out at her father.

He laughed her off as he walked up and gave her a hug. "Happy Birthday, Rose. I can't believe how fast time flies. It seems like just yesterday you were begging me to read you a bedtime story before tucking you in."

Rose groaned loudly. "Daaaad! You're embarrassing me!"

He laughed as his hands cupped her face. "My darling daughter. Today marks the start of the next chapter of your life. Your mother and I understand how hard the past few years have been on you.

The limited contact with friends, the constant glamour charms when going out, the necessity of secrecy. We wish things didn't have to be this way, but sadly that's how they turned out. The past is the past, and the only thing we can do is move forward.

Despite all of this, you have grown to become the sweetest and smartest young girl we could have hoped for. We want you to know how proud we are of you. You're going to love Hogwarts! You will make friends for life and resurrect the legacy of the Marauders!"

He finished with a wink.

Upon finishing, he was interrupted with a light slap on the shoulder. "James! She will not take up pranking if she knows what's good for her!"

Her mother arrived by their side with a playful scowl on her face.

After chastising her father, her mother pulled her into a tight hug. "Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I can't believe you're already 11."

Her father shot her his patented half-smirk. "She really did get that adorable scowl from you."

Her mother dissolved into laughter as she agreed. "That is true. She inherited my stunning good looks as well." She joked as she pecked his cheek.

It was her father's turn to scowl as he looked at her. "Don't remind me. I'll have to practice my intimidation tactics for the boy she's inevitably going to bring home one day. Maybe I'll break out the old Auror armor. That'll scare him off right quick."

Lily laughed loudly before catching him in a searing kiss. Rose gave a cry of "Eeew!" as she ran into the dining room.

"You're going to have your work cut out for you, James. After all, you know what happened when I turned 13."

James frowned. "Don't remind me. I had to pull out all the stops to keep those no-good louts off you during our third year. I almost ran out of prank ideas before they chose to stop."

Giggling, Lily grabbed his hand and guided him back to the dining room. "Well you won't have to deal with it for another 2 years at least. Maybe you can use that time to teach Rose some tricks to defend herself."

James gave her a worried look. "Her year is going to be filled with the heirs to several Pureblood families, most of them Dark. While I trust Minnie and Albus to watch over her, I'm worried about sending her. They can't always be there to protect her.

Those kids have grown up being told that she was the reason for their family's damaged reputation. Her blood status will only cause even more trouble for her. She's going to be a target for them the moment she boards the Express."

Lily stopped as she solemnly reflected on the years of discrimination she faced at Hogwarts. It was true, Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster couldn't monitor every interaction between students. She could attest to that, as she had attended during the height of the Blood War.

The students of Slytherin, including her best friend at the time had adopted the poisonous Pureblood supremacy philosophy and made their opinions about Muggleborns at Hogwarts well known. Several first-year Muggleborns had chosen to leave Hogwarts permanently for different schools after being attacked multiple times by older Slytherin students.

The war had changed the dynamic between the houses, and her beauty had drawn the attention and ire of several older Slytherin boys, who tried to "teach her the place of mudbloods in their society".

It was a good thing that she was handy with a wand, as several of them found out. Otherwise, they might have had the opportunity to follow through on their heinous threats.

She remembered the wide-eyed innocence with which she stepped into the magical world. Her daughter was just like her in that respect, with a burning curiosity to learn about the wonders of magic. Sending her to Hogwarts would undoubtedly foster that love of learning and allow her to study under some of the greatest masters of their fields.

At the same time, she shared James' anxiety. She didn't want her daughter to come face to face with the evil side of their world so soon. Not that being almost killed by Voldemort had helped, but she had been a baby then, and did not remember the night in question.

The Prophet with its sensationalizing of her status hadn't helped in the least. With how often reporters would invade their privacy, they had to take several inconvenient security measures just to go out. The years had been tough on their family, especially with prominent Death Eaters avoiding Azkaban, with some even working in the Ministry.

James had quit his job as an Auror because she had been so worried about him not coming home one day. While their finances were beyond secure, especially after she had diversified their investment portfolio, being cloistered in the manor had been tough on their marriage.

Rose had been her guiding light for the longest time. She could suffer anything for her daughter. Watching her grow up to be the kind and understanding girl she became had been one of her greatest joys. Now, with the possibility of danger at Hogwarts, she was questioning whether sending her was the right move.

"James? Do you think maybe we should send her elsewhere?"

James looked at her in disbelief. "Elsewhere? Like another school in the Continent or the Colonies?"

Lily bit her lip in consternation. "Hear me out, James. While I understand we both share a deep connection with Hogwarts, your worries are well founded. Lucius' son, along with the other sons of his Death Eater buddies are going to be part of Rose's year.

Do you really think we should take the risk and send her, knowing who she's going to be studying with their? I'm sure there are other schools who would love to accept her."

James ran his hand through his messy black hair. "I don't know, Lily. She's been looking forward to attending Hogwarts with her friends for so many years. Even if it could keep her safe, would we be doing her any favors taking her away from all the people she knew?"

Lily was unable to look at him. His question cut deeply. Could she send her daughter away from all her friends, all in the hope of keeping her safe? Rose would not like that. Such a decision could potentially damage their relationship permanently. Did she have the strength to ignore the pain it would bring her and James, all to keep her daughter ignorant of the evil that lurked in the shadows?

James squeezed her hand. "Lily-flower. I understand your worry. However, this isn't a decision for us to make. It's Rose's decision. We have to ask her, and her choice is final."

Taking a deep breath, she nodded and put on a smile as she made her way to the table. Rose sat on the chair, eating a plate of French toast with delight. Seeing her approaching she smiled.

"Your French Toast is as amazing as always Mum!"

Lily stroked her daughter's hair, the dark auburn curls flowed between her fingers as she thought about the situation with Rose's education. A strained smile decorated her face as she responded.

"That's great to hear, sweetie. Would you like two more slices?"

"That'd be great! Thanks Mum!"

"You're welcome sweetie. I'll be right back with them."

Lily Potter walked back into the kitchen with a grim expression on her face. She knew her daughter would never consider another school. Not after waiting for so long. It was up to her to figure out how she was going to protect her daughter.

As she was making Rose's second serving of French Toast, a loud squeal sent had her rushing to the dining room with her wand drawn. She was greeted to the sight of Rose jumping in joy as she held a cream envelope in her hands.

Lily had a sinking feeling in her stomach upon seeing the envelope that signified the start of her life in Magical Britain. Rose's excitement was infectious, as despite her worries, she was happy that her daughter received the acceptance letter. Now came the hard part.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked as she levitated the slices of French Toast onto Rose's plate.

Rose ran over and hugged her tightly while still jumping like a jackrabbit.

"My Hogwarts letter came! It's finally here!"

Lily gave a light chuckle before turning serious. "Calm down, dear. Before you send your reply, there was something your father and I needed to talk to you about."

Rose sensed the odd change in her mother and instantly grew somber. "What do you mean, Mum?"

Sighing, Lily slowly marshalled her husband and daughter into the living. Rose picked the chair facing the couch while her and James took a seat on the couch.

Taking a deep breath before starting, Lily spoke. "Honey. Your father and I were talking about Hogwarts and he raised some strong concerns about you attending."

Rose looked like she was about to pipe up, only to be silenced by a look from her. "Before you say anything, I want you to understand where we are coming from. The heirs of several Death Eaters will be attending Hogwarts along with you. These children have been taught to despise you ever since Voldemort's death. While we trust the staff to look out for you, they cannot always be there to protect you.

I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you, sweetie. I've told you about some of my experiences with the type of people who will be in your year. They hate me for my actions during the war, and that will be transferred to you should you attend Hogwarts.

There are several other great schools out there, Rose. Hogwarts is not the only option you have. I've heard amazing things about Beauxbatons in France, and the Salem Institute in the United States. Both are top notch institutions where you will get the best education possible."

Rose couldn't hold her peace any longer at that point. "No! You're asking me to leave all my friends?! What about Bianca? Neville? Susan? I've been looking forward to going to Hogwarts with them for so long! You can't just make me give that up and go to a different country! Why in Merlin's name would you even think I would consider doing that?!"

James interjected before her tirade continued. "Rose Lily Potter! You will not speak with such disrespect towards your mother!"

Rose instantly quietened down, but the anger in her eyes did not abate.

James sighed before running his hand through his hair. It was a nervous tick he inherited from his father, and something he had tried to get rid of several times unsuccessfully. This was not the way he imagined having this conversation, but the arrival of her Hogwarts letter had pushed the schedule forward, for better or worse.

"Darling. You know how difficult life has been for us. We have been forced suffer many inconveniences in the name of security. Your mother and I are worried that once you head off to Hogwarts, we won't be able to protect you like we are able to at home.

Your mother is correct that there are other schools who would love to have you. However, there is one thing that in our worry, we didn't properly consider before. Your status within our society makes going to another school difficult. You're the Girl-Who-Lived. Regardless of how much you loathe the title, you are the saviour of the British Wizarding world.

If you chose to not attend Hogwarts, it would offend a lot of people and cause some political fallout. I'm not worried about it because I have enough capital to spare. I can call in a few favors to lessen the impact and our family will whether the storm as we always do.

Albus and Minnie would understand, but I have no doubt the Ministry would have a problem with it. Ever since that horrible Samhain night, you have become a very influential figure. It would be egg on their face if another country had the privilege of educating the Girl-Who-Lived.

Despite all of that, if it meant you being safer, I would let you go elsewhere in a heartbeat. If it was my choice, that is. Upon your 11th birthday, only you have the power to decide what school you want to attend.

Know that your mother and I will respect your choice, no matter what it is. We still want you to give it some thought before deciding."

With his piece finished, he settled back down on the couch and waited for his daughter's response while squeezing his wife's hand to give her some comfort.

The family stayed silent, the ticks of the grand grandfather clock filling the room for several minutes. Finally, Rose broke the silence.

"Mum. Dad. I want you to know that I love you both so much. I get why you don't want me to go to Hogwarts, but I want to go. My friends are all going there, and I've been wanting to learn there for as long as I can remember. Besides, won't I be a coward if I just let those Death Eater ponces run me off?"

Her mother muttered "Language." While her father snorted.

Turning to her mother, her father smirked. "She seems to have inherited your legendary stubbornness as well dear."

"Well she definitely got that sense of honor and courage from you."

Her father grinned in response. "I know, right? A true Gryffindor in the making!"

The tension in the room deflated almost immediately at his joke as they all laughed. Her mother got up and walked to her. Before she knew it, she was wrapped up in her embrace. "Promise me you'll be safe, sweetheart."

"I promise, Mum. I'll make sure to be safe. Don't worry. I have Bianca, Neville, and Susan to help me."

She felt her mother gently stroking the back of her head as her warm lips descended onto her forehead. "I know, sweetie. I'm so proud of you. You're going to be an amazing witch one day."

James joined in by ensconcing them both in a bear hug. "Leaving out your dear Dad, are you?"

They both chuckled at his comment as they broke apart and made it a group hug. Rose closed her eyes as she enjoyed the warmth and safety of her parents. While it made her a little sad to make them worry, this was something she had to do. Hogwarts wouldn't know what hit it.

Lily went upstairs and retrieved an inked quill and a piece of parchment for Rose's reply. Rose grabbed the quill and wrote out a short letter of acceptance before sending it off with the owl that delivered the letter. They finished breakfast, got dressed, and stepped into the Floo while calling out "Black Cottage!".

A flash of green fire accompanied by a swirling sensation shot them through the Floo Network and sent them to their destination. Her godfather's house.

Coming out of the chimney, she was greeted by a shrill squeal as a black-haired missile barreled into her. "Rosie! Happy birthday! Did you get your Hogwarts letter?!"

Rose beamed at her. "Yep! Got it just half an hour back!"

Her cousin Bianca Black squealed again. "Oh Merlin! I can't believe we're going to be first years at Hogwarts!"

"I know right?!"

The girls giggled as they started planning out all the things they would be shopping for when they left for Diagon Alley.

A voice interrupted their reverie. "What's this? Someone seems to have forgotten about giving their wonderful dogfather his mandatory hug."

Rose laughed while running to the man. "Uncle Padfoot! I missed you so much!"

Sirius Black chuckled as he hugged Rose. "Your dear Uncle Paddy missed you too Rosebud. A very happy birthday to you. I can't believe you both are starting Hogwarts already. Merlin, you girls make me feel so old."

A snort came from the side. "That's because you _are_ getting on in the years you mangy mutt."

"Aunty Marley!" Rose cried out as she rushed towards the woman and gave her a crushing hug.

"Let your Aunt Marley look at you dear." Her aunt Marlene McKinnon said as she broke the hug and lifted her face.

"Happy birthday, Rose! My word, you look just like your mother when she was 11. You both had the same excitement twinkling in those vivid green eyes of yours.

Bianca suddenly exclaimed. "Rosie! I need you to help me pick what to wear. We're going to Diagon Alley as Hogwarts students for the first time. I need to make a good impression. We'll also probably meet Neville there. I don't think he's gotten his supplies yet, as his birthday was yesterday."

Rose grabbed her hand and rushed her upstairs with a cry of "What are we waiting for?! Let's get you looking fresh and ready!"

As the girls went off to dig through Bianca's wardrobe, the adults sat in the living room, catching up with each other. Sirius was chatting with James about his work in the Hit-Wizard squadrons.

"I have to say Jamie. Ever since I made the switch from Auror to Hit-Wizard, it's like my entire work life balance has improved dramatically. I no longer need to go through mounds of paperwork to justify Stunning some scumbag, or deal with casualty notifications.

I get called onto a scene and given some instructions. We pop in, provide the muscle, and get sent home afterwards. I don't know why I never thought of it earlier. The family's also happier, now that I get home at a decent hour except on rare occasions."

James nodded. "Sounds like you've really found your groove in the Ministry, Siri. That's great to hear."

"You ever consider donning the red and black again, Jamie? Now that Rose is leaving for Hogwarts, there's no need for you and Lily to stay cooped up at home. I could use a partner. My current one is some arrogant young punk fresh out of the Academy."

James snorted. "Out of all the things you can accuse others of Padfoot, arrogance is not one of them."

"That's not fair, Prongs. You know I've gotten better ever since I settled down with Marlene." Sirius whined in protest.

James smiled thoughtfully. It was true. While it had come as a shock that the self-proclaimed eternal bachelor Sirius Black had settled down, he couldn't have made a better choice in his wife. Marlene McKinnon was a Pureblood witch from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Pureblood families.

Her family's talent in wards were well-known across Britain. During the war, she was the one that laid down the wards that protected Order Headquarters and the various safe houses. She had taken on the role as their Wardbreaker.

This was because a popular technique for Death Eater raids was raising Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey wards to prevent innocents from escaping. With her help, several raids had been cut short as she broke the wards and allowed the Aurors to Apparate in and fight back.

They had been in hiding for months when they received news of the McKinnon family being slaughtered by the Death Eaters due to Marlene's involvement with the Order. Marlene had supposedly died in the massacre, and Sirius had confirmed it to them.

It had been a huge surprise at the end of the war when they saw Marlene alive and well, taking care of a baby girl. Sirius had been hexed into the next decade by Lily for making her think her best friend was dead. Learning about their marriage had come as another shock, but they saw how she brought out the best in Sirius and gave them their heartfelt congratulations.

Their daughter, Bianca Marlene Black, had grown up alongside Rose. They were practically sisters, sharing the same sense of kinship that he and Sirius had. He had been ecstatic at being named her godfather and took it upon himself to spoil her rotten. Sirius had retaliated by doing the same for Rose.

Now, those girls had them wrapped around their little fingers. Once they started pouting, he and Sirius never stood a chance. Due to their weakness, their wives had taken on the roles of disciplinarians, making sure that the girls understood the value of money and the good luck they had to be born into influential families.

It was a good thing they had done so, as the girls had grown up to be kind and appreciative of their situations. Not turning out like Lucius Malfoy's son was a blessing in disguise. If anything, their sympathy towards those of lesser means would have them diametrically opposed to the Dark families.

While their conversation veered towards Fudge's incompetence, Lily and Marlene were having a very different conversation.

"Marley, I'm so worried for her. She chose Hogwarts and while I trust her decision, it makes me scared to think that she'll be dealing with the sons of several prominent Death Eaters. What do you think we should do?"

Marlene looked pensive as she considered the circumstances. She had had the misfortune of meeting the Malfoy family during the swanky balls hosted by the Black family. Sirius' mother had been overjoyed at his choice of wife, specifically that she was a Pureblood. This had caused her to reinstate him back into the family.

Sirius' grandfather Arcturus had met with them shortly after the war ended and spoke to him about making him Lord Black. With some persuasion from her, Sirius accepted Arcturus' request, but made it clear that he would redefine the Black family politically.

They had tried for more children after Bianca, but it looked like it wasn't meant to be. Sadly, without a male heir, the Black and McKinnon family legacies would end with the main line. At least if James and Lily had a son, Sirius might have been able to secure the lordship and keep it out of the hands of the Malfoys.

That hadn't been the case, and after Voldemort attacked Lily, she could never give birth again. This chain of events meant that once the girls reached 13, every person looking to climb the social ladder would be aiming to court them.

After all, their husbands would be guaranteed the lordships of the families as well as seats and votes on the Wizengamot. The fortunes also made them both targets for marriage contracts.

Looking up at Lily, she solemnly spoke. "I think it's time we educate them on the dangers of the Pureblood heirs and make sure they can keep each other safe."

Lily's eyes widened. "Already? Wouldn't teaching them so early in their Hogwarts years affect how they view and interact with boys their age? Do we want to instill such paranoia into them?"

"The Black family library has a whole compendium of books on protecting virtue. In fact, the Lady Blacks even created a special grimoire filled with handy spells for that specific purpose. Bianca will have to learn those spells anyway. If she and Rose learned a few now, I would feel much better by the time they left for Hogwarts."

"Then it looks like once they get their wands, we'll be spending the rest of the summer training them." Lily spoke with fierce determination.

Nodding to each other, they switched to lighter topics, trying to get their minds off the threats their daughters would face at Hogwarts.

Unbeknownst to the serious discussion going on downstairs, the two girls were standing in the eye of a hurricane of clothes. Various tops littered the bed and floor as they scavenged through the pile, picking up and trying on a couple of articles every now and then.

"Uggghhh! Bianca, we've been through your entire closet twice now. I think your best bet is the light blue sundress with the tan sandals."

"Those sandals make my feet look fat! I refuse to wear them!"

"Listen. Those sandals look amazing on you and go great with the dress. It gives off a whole beautiful warrior princess vibe. Like Wonder Woman."

"But I don't want to look like Wonder Woman! I want to look cute, not fierce. I don't want to scare off any cute boys."

Rose rolled her eyes at her best friend's antics. She had noticed boys a lot earlier than she had but was still quite clueless about love and relationships. Then again, she had learned through an accidental skim of one of her mother's trashy romance novel.

"You won't be scaring off any cute boys, though I don't think many will even notice in the first place. Boys our age aren't usually interested in girls yet. I don't understand why you're putting in so much effort."

Bianca pouted. "It's for the future. Boys our age may not notice, but the older ones will. That's what I'm aiming for."

Throwing up her hands in frustration, Rose cried out. "Okay already! You can wear another pair of footwear. Merlin, you're so picky."

"That's how you get the cutest boys to notice you, Rosie." She winked as she put on the blue sundress.

After debating for several minutes on the pair of footwear, Bianca settled for a pair of matching flats that she wore with no-show socks. After giving herself a once over in the mirror, she grabbed Rose and dragged her behind as she bounded down the stairs.

"Mum! Dad! Rose and I are ready to go to Diagon Alley!" Bianca yelled as they neared the living room.

Their parents came out of the living room. Sirius groaned when he saw his daughter all dressed up. "Oh Merlin, I think I have to break out the Hit-Wizard robes to keep the boys away from my beautiful little girl."

The adults and Rose laughed while Bianca glared at him.

They headed towards the chimney and threw in some Floo powder and calling out "The Leaky Cauldron!" and stepping into the blazing green fire.

They stepped out of the chimney into a dark pub. Tom, the bartender looked at them and called out. "Sirius Black! How are ya this fine mornin'?"

"I'm doing well, Tom. Just here to get school supplies for my dear daughter."

"Dear Merlin, is that little Bianca?! She's going to Hogwarts this year?! Can't believe it's been so long."

Sirius laughed. "I know, right? I never thought this day would creep up on me like this."

Turning to Bianca, Tom said "Congratulations, Bianca. I'm sure you're going to do very well at Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Tom. I can't wait for September 1st to arrive!"

Tom nodded as his eyes flickered over to the girl standing next to Bianca. She seemed familiar, but he couldn't tell who she was immediately, and that's when he saw it. The distinct, lightning bolt scar that was poking out from underneath her hair. He froze as he realized who she was.

"Bless my soul. Rose Potter?!" he whispered.

James and Lily felt the entire room still as all the patrons turned to get a good look at them.

Rose shrunk in on herself as she noticed everyone staring intensely at her. Her father put a comforting hand on her shoulder, which eased her anxiety. Taking a deep breath, she replied.

"Hi, Tom."

The moment she finished greeting him, pandemonium erupted. Several patrons burst out of their chairs and rushed over to her. She was overrun by well-wishers who started shaking her hand thanking her for killing Voldemort and stopping the war.

After a few minutes of interacting with the adoring public, her father and godfather made a hole in the crowd, guiding them through the back door. Once they were away from the chaos inside, they took a short breather before heading towards the entrance of the alley.

James stopped just short of the brick wall and turned around. "Alright you two. Now that you are officially getting your wands, you must remember this combination to get into Diagon Alley through this entrance. Watch me closely."

Taking out his wand, he tapped three bricks in an ascending motion and then tapped two bricks to the right. "The combination is three up, two across. The way to remember which brick to start with, is looking for the brick with a hole in the middle. The one right above that is the first brick you tap with you wand to start. Just skip a brick in between taps."

As he finished his explanation, the bricks in the wall had shifted, revealing a bustling street. Sellers hawked their wares on carts, signs advertising exotic potions ingredients and sales dotted the windows. Both Rose and Bianca had been to Diagon Alley on several occasions. However, there was something special about coming here as prospective Hogwarts students.

The group made their way to Madam Malkin's to get measured for their uniforms, as those would take the longest to get ready. As they entered the store, they were greeted by a squat witch dressed in mauve.

"Welcome to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions! I am Madam Malkin. How may I assist you today?"

Lily took the lead as she returned Madam Malkin's greeting. "Good morning, Madam Malkin. We're here to get my daughter and her cousin their Hogwarts uniforms."

Madam Malkin's eyes went wide before she exclaimed. "Lily Potter! What a lovely surprise, darling! You said your daughter needed robes for Hogwarts? Then this lovely little lady must be Rose, no?"

She walked over and started shaking Rose's hand. "A pleasure to meet you at last dear. You look so much like your mother!"

Rose smiled at the lady. She resembled an excited grandmother. "It's so nice to finally meet you, Madam Malkin. There was absolutely no other place we would go to get uniforms for Hogwarts."

Madam Malkin beamed at the compliment and ushered her to the platform. She flicked her wand, and a measuring tap, quill and parchment rushed out from the back and hovered right next to her.

With another flick, the measuring tape started taking Rose's measurements. As it was encircling the various parts of her body, the quill was in motion, recording the numbers. On Rose's right, was a boy she remembered very well from her family's first excursion to Diagon Alley after that horrible night that changed her life.

Draco Malfoy looked like he hadn't changed in the least. If anything, he seemed to have become even more of an arrogant ponce, if that was even possible. She desperately hoped that he wouldn't try to start a conversation, as she wanted to avoid talking to him as much as possible.

Sadly, the universe seemed to be conspiring against her.

"Hello. My name's Draco Malfoy. You going to Hogwarts too?" he asked her casually.

Rose closed her eyes in defeat. What did she do to deserve this on her birthday?

"Yes."

He nodded. "What house are you hoping to get into?"

"Probably Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. How about yourself?"

Draco's nose scrunched up, as if he had smelt something pungent. "Gryffindor? Why in Merlin's name would you want to be in the house of the stupid?"

Rose grit her teeth at the slight against her parent's old house. "Gryffindor is a perfectly good house to want to get into. Albus Dumbledore was a Gryffindor."

Draco snorted at her comment. "Everyone knows that the best house is Slytherin. Ravenclaw is for nerds and Hufflepuffs are the leftovers that couldn't get into any other house."

Out of the corner of her eye, Rose saw Madam Malkin bristle at that comment as she shot Malfoy a glare. "That's not a very nice thing to say. The Four Founders contributed equally to create Hogwarts and the houses they instituted are all noble."

"Whatever. Do you play Quidditch?" He seemed to have noticed the anger his words were causing, so he attempted to change the topic.

"Yes. I play both Chaser and Seeker." This was something Rose didn't mind talking about. Even if it was with Draco. She had inherited her father's passion for Quidditch.

The positions she played were both roles her father had played on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He had always mentioned that he considered going pro straight out of school.

When she expressed interest in learning, she discovered the truth behind that statement. Her father was an extremely skilled Chaser, who could probably still go pro if he wanted to. His skills hadn't dulled in the slightest over the years, and she had become a formidable Chaser under his tutelage.

"Really? I play Seeker, and father says it would be a crime if I'm not picked for the Slytherin house team. First years aren't allowed brooms, but I'm pretty sure I could bully him into sneaking one in for me. He's on the Board of Governors, so he could make an exception."

Rose could feel a migraine coming on. The sheer arrogance and disrespect Draco showed in his comments was not winning him any points. She would much rather be anywhere else right now.

Looking back, she noticed Bianca settling into her "Heiress Black" persona. She often said it was the only way to tolerate dealing with the sons of Dark Pureblood families without resorting to hexes.

Madam Malkin came to her rescue at that moment. "There you go dear. You're all done. The robes will be ready for you in an hour's time."

Draco leapt off the platform. "I'll see you at Hogwarts."

Rose just nodded as she saw him stalk out of the shop. She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Bianca stepped up onto the platform Draco had vacated.

"I can't believe I'm related to that wanker. You know we're going to have to tolerate his existence for the next 7 years, right?"

Rose sighed. "I'm not too worried. So long as we stay out of each other's way, we won't need to bother with him."

Bianca nodded and started talking about their classes to get their minds off their encounter with Draco. After a few more minutes of chatting, Madam Malkin finished taking their measurements while their mothers had gone through the various options for convenience charms and fabrics.

With their selections finalized, they went to get the other items on the list. Flourish and Blotts took up most of their time, as Rose eagerly bounced from shelf to shelf, picking up books in subjects that interested her.

Bianca took the time to tease her with the various children's books starring her. Rose Potter and the Terrible Troll, Rose Potter and the Ghastly Ghoul and a host of other alliterative titles. She flushed in embarrassment as she saw them. Her parents had tried to stop them from being published, but there was a whole market for Rose Potter paraphernalia.

Seeing as they couldn't prevent the dolls and books from being created, they shrewdly negotiated a contract for licensing her likeness. All the profits went into her personal vault and part of the proceeds were donated to multiple charities and St. Mungo's hospital.

With the amount of money being deposited monthly, she would never have to work for the rest of her life. In fact, even after she married, she wouldn't have any need to touch the funds stored in the Lady Potter vault. That was one thing she was happy about, as her future husband couldn't touch that vault, thus ensuring her financial independence.

Finishing up at Flourish and Blotts, they went and got a full set of potions equipment and ingredients, along with the necessary telescope for Astronomy. All that was left was the wand. This was the part that Rose was most excited about as she buzzed with energy. She was finally going to have her very own wand!

Their group stepped into the dilapidated old shop and looked around. Hundreds of rectangular cardboard boxes packed the shelves. One of the boxes was going to contain the wand that was hers.

Out of nowhere, they heard a raspy voice call out. "Good afternoon."

Both her and Bianca were taken by surprise and let out startled yelps. Their fathers broke down laughing at their reaction while their mothers giggled. Perhaps getting scared out of their skin was some sort of rite of passage?

An old man appeared out of nowhere in front of them. "Ahh Ms. Potter. I've been expecting you." Turning to Bianca he said "Ms. Black is here as well. I would have thought you would come to find your wand a month ago."

"I wanted to come and get mine with Rose, so I delayed my shopping." Bianca explained.

Ollivander smiled. "Such loyalty Ms. Black, Hufflepuff would sure be a great fit for you."

Rose grabbed Bianca in a one-armed hug. "We both know she's coming to Gryffindor with me."

Ollivander chuckled. "Well I guess we shall see. So, you two are here to find your partners. Which one will be going first?"

Rose pushed Bianca forward. Bianca tried to back out, but Rose insisted. "You put off your shopping for me all this time. It's only fair you get your wand first."

After much insisting, Bianca finally agreed to go first. It took a couple of tries before she was matched with a blackthorn and unicorn hair wand. It shot up several silver sparks when she first waved it, and made Rose look that much more excited about finding her own.

"Now for young Ms. Potter. Which is your wand hand?"

"I'm ambidextrous, Mr. Ollivander."

"Truly? I can already tell that you are going to be an interesting customer."

He waved his hand as a tape measure shot into action, measuring all sorts of weird areas of her arms and face. The width and length of her nose, the length of her right pinky finger. It was an interesting experience, to say the least.

"That's enough." Ollivander said from behind a shelf. The tape dropped instantly after he finished speaking. She heard a bit of rustling before he approached the counter with five different boxes in hand.

"Let us try across a wide spectrum and narrow down what works for you. How about we start with this one. 10 and ¾ inches, Vinewood and Unicorn hair, swishy."

He handed her the wand grip first. As she took hold of the wand, she waited for something to happen, but nothing did. Almost immediately, it was snatched out of her hand. "I guess that was not a match. How about this? 9 inches, Maple and Dragon heartstring, flexible and powerful."

She tried that next wand and only got a weak reaction before it too was taken back. This pattern continued for nearly 20 minutes as Ollivander made trip after trip through the maze of shelves. Around the 20th wand, Rose started getting worried. Would she even find her wand at this rate?

Ollivander seemed to be acting the opposite of what she expected. Instead of frustration, there was a childlike glee on his face as she tried more wands. "Just as I suspected Ms. Potter. You are a tricky customer. I wonder…" he drifted off as his eyes gained a thousand-yard stare.

After a couple of seconds, his eyes shifted to her and looked excited at something. "Perhaps that one will work." He walked to the very back of the store and started rummaging around while they all waited anxiously.

She didn't know how much time had passed before she heard footsteps approaching the front. Ollivander exited from in between the shelves with a very old box in his hands. It looked weathered and slightly chipped. A sharp distinction from the perfectly preserved boxes on the shelves.

"Try this one, Ms. Potter. I have a good feeling about it. 11 and ¼ inches, Holly and Phoenix feather, nice and supple." He handed her the wand and as she grasped the handle, she felt something click within her.

A burst of multicolored sparks shot out of the wand as a strong wind breezed through the store. This was it. She had found her wand.

"Curious. Very curious." She heard Ollivander mutter as he stared at her.

"What's curious, Mr. Ollivander?"

His piercing gaze flickered over to her parents before settling back on her. "I have crafted many wands, Ms. Potter. Ever since I took over the store from my father nearly 60 years ago, I have created thousands of wands and matched them with their destined witch or wizard.

Most of the cores that I've procured throughout the years have been matched to their partners quickly. In fact, in my entire wand collection, less than five have cores that are older than 10 years.

It's always a treat for me to match a customer with one of my older wands, as most who receive them go on and do great things. However, such instances are exceedingly rare. In fact, the last time this occurred was exactly a year ago to the day in Paris."

Rose found that weird. "Paris? What happened in Paris?"

Ollivander grinned. "I remember it like it was yesterday. I was staying at a friend's store in Place Cachee, the French magical shopping district. A boy walked in and had trouble locating a suitable wand among my friend's stock. I offered my assistance and was surprised by the results.

Such an exceptional young man. He matched with a core that I had been holding onto for more than a decade. By far it was the second oldest core in my inventory. Such a mysterious one at that. He started his journey to greatness last year at the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

I mentioned that story because the core in your wand is the oldest out of all the wands I've made. The phoenix that donated the tail feather that sits within your wand gave just one other. I used it to create another wand made of yew, that matched with a boy who went to Hogwarts almost 50 years ago.

It is curious that you are destined to wield this wand, when it's brother, gave you that scar." He finished ominously as he pointed towards her trademark lightning bold scar above her right eye.

He must have seen the horrified expression on her face as he solemnly continued. "Yes. 13 and ½ inches. Yew. If I had known what that wand was going out into the world to do…" He paused as his words sank in.

"I think we can expect great things from you, Ms. Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named also did great things. Terrible things, yes. But great!"

Rose felt like his milky white eyes were staring through her soul. Never had she felt such dread. She had matched with the brother wand of Voldemort's. A part of her wanted to drop the wand and ask for another, but the other part refused to let go of it.

She was so confused and scared that she didn't even notice her mother's hand on her shoulder. Turning to her, she saw the strained smile on her face. Her mother pulled her into a hug as she trembled.

Without another word, her father paid the 7 Galleons for her wand and they all left the store in a depressed mood. Nobody said a word to her as they got their uniforms and went back home.

In the evening, her parents approached her to try and cheer her up.

"Sweetie, your wand is your wand. The connection to Voldemort's doesn't matter. You will be a great witch regardless."

Her father nodded. "Exactly darling. This doesn't change anything. Your wand does not define you."

Rose felt better with her parents support, but the fact that such a connection existed was gnawing at her. She went to bed worried about the future, only for her worries to be replaced with righteous anger after hours of brooding.

So, what if her wand shared a connection to Voldemort's?! That didn't mean anything. She was a good person, unlike that monster. Her parents were right. Her actions would define her, not her wand. She was the Girl-Who-Lived, but once she started Hogwarts, that would change.

She would show the world that she was Rose Potter, a powerful and great witch of her generation. With this promise, she drifted off to sleep, eager to begin her own journey to greatness.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Apologies for the late update. Was really stressing over this chapter, as it would introduce a very important character. I had a lot of trouble with the interactions between her and her family and friends. Seeing as I don't have kids, nor have I ever been a teenage girl, I had to use my younger female cousins as inspiration.

A lot happened in this chapter, and I wanted to make sure that I properly covered the questions that were asked in a couple of the reviews. Fleur is a year older than Archer. Rose is a year younger than Archer. He will be in his 5th year during the Goblet of Fire when the real action kicks off.

Regarding the issue with Transfiguration and self-identity, I will be explaining it more in-depth in the next chapter. That will have a discussion between Renaud and Archer that will hopefully clear up any confusion. I will also be involving some more theoretical aspects of magic and interspersing them throughout Archer's education at Beauxbatons. I don't want to get too technical and bore people though, so I'll try to find the right balance of theory and action.

A couple people mentioned Laura being in the harem. No, she will unequivocally not be part of the harem. She will be more like an older sister that Archer can turn to with his problems. She will play a large role in mentoring Archer in the field of Transfiguration. Likewise, Desjardin will also take Archer under his wing and teach him about Charms.

His family background will be interesting and varied. I have some ideas I want to implement and while he will have a couple of Heirships off the bat, he will not have everything handed to him immediately. I explained a little about the inheritance laws in this chapter, and will expand upon it in a future chapter. Don't worry about him not getting lordships, he will have plenty, but it will take time to get them.

Thank you for your patience and continued support. I'll see you soon with the next chapter.

Sincerely,

AltruousAlliterator


	9. An Enlightening Conversation

Archer stretched out on his bed as his thoughts went to the surprise party his parents had thrown for him. His roommates and Fleur, with their families, had made the trip to the chateau via portkey. His parents had not suspected anything, as he had made sure to not let on that he was aware of their plan.

They had mentioned reservations at a swanky and exclusive restaurant in Paris and sent him upstairs to get changed into some formal clothes they had prepared for him. He followed their instructions without complaint and gone downstairs once he had finished getting ready.

The darkness of the dining room had been the first clue, but he had smiled and walked forward, calling out for his parents. Upon entering, the lights were thrown on and he heard an exclamation of "Surprise!", along with several resounding cracks as party poppers exploded, showering him in multicolored tape and confetti.

He feigned surprise as he walked over and gave his parents a hug. While they hadn't been nearly as sneaky as they thought, the amount of effort and care they had put in made him feel warm inside. He went around greeting the guests and got his first look at Fleur's family.

They looked exactly as he remembered them, except younger. Apolline Delacour was as stunningly beautiful as ever, with Antoine looking dignified with his aristocratic features and well-groomed goatee.

Archer took more time to observe Antoine, as this was the man who would become the Head of the French Aurors and later, the French Minister for Magic. He wasn't aware of the particulars of Antoine's background, as he hadn't spent much time with the man. He hadn't been very welcoming after receiving the news of his eldest daughter's death in the war.

This time around, he wanted to properly establish a close relationship with him. France was one of the first countries that Voldemort conquered after securing his rule in England. It went on to become a highly contested territory, with the front lines of the war against the Death Eaters being fought in the major coastal cities.

Near the end of the conflict, the Resistance had established their Forward Operating Base in Paris, a strategic position they used to attack and defend against Voldemort's forces, and later, the demons. Magical France would play a significant role in the war and having Antoine Delacour, the future Minister, on his side would help them immensely.

The reason why they hadn't intervened when Voldemort was winning was due to the toxic influence of the French Pureblood supremacists. They had been approached by the Death Eaters early in the war. Before Voldemort had been exposed at the Ministry during his fifth year.

With some honeyed words and bribes in the right pockets, the French magical government had been locked in a stalemate on whether they would intervene and assist the Resistance in England. By the time they realized how badly things would end for them if Voldemort won, it had been too late.

Voldemort had exposed the magical world, and things got even more complicated when the non-magicals started butting into the French Ministry's business. Constant jurisdictional pissing contests became the norm, and any chance the Resistance had of receiving reinforcements from their neighbors died completely. When the politicians both magical and non-magical got their heads out of their asses, Voldemort's army was already knocking on their door.

What followed had been one of the worst massacres in both French magical and non-magical history. The city of Paris ran red with the blood of thousands of innocents. Years later, many compared the day Voldemort's forces attacked France to the zenith of the French Revolution. Chaos reigned in the streets with groups of Death Eaters conducting multiple simultaneous terrorist attacks against innocents and key magical infrastructure.

People were captured, tortured, and killed by lynch mobs of Death Eaters and Dark creatures. Fear had the populace sheltering in their homes, praying to whatever deity they could for their families to remain safe. Most of the magical population decided to flee France, seeing no help coming from the deadlocked Ministry.

Antoine Delacour had personally taken command of the Aurors and gone out to help defend his people. He fought for several days, dying a noble death when he sacrificed himself to protect a group of children held hostage. His demise at their hands had galvanized the remaining Aurors to fight with everything they had. After two weeks of relentless conflict, both sides retreated to lick their wounds before the next battle.

That attack had served as a wake-up call to the entire world. The cruelty the Death Eaters had shown to the women and children had people's blood boiling. The non-magical governments approached their magical counterparts, and for the first time, politics was put on the back burner.

The thousands of innocent French people who had suffered under the hands of Voldemort's followers became a rallying cry that saw magicals and non-magical around the world unite to start engaging the threat presented by the Dark Lord Voldemort. That initial interaction had blossomed into the organization that would go on to become the IDSC.

Archer smiled as he reminisced.

Sometimes it was only when things were at their bleakest, that humans would show their true capacity for cooperation. While some IDSC meetings had devolved into political games and occasional backstabbing, all it took was a stern reminder from him to get things back on track.

He had been respected and idolized by billions, seeing as he was the figurehead of the entire Resistance. The politicians understood this fact and sought to cooperate with him as much as possible. Oh, they all played their little games behind his back, but when major decisions had to be made, they collectively turned to him for leadership and guidance.

He had gained a decent appreciation for the art of politics and using political capital to get things done. One of the key abilities of any good politician was to be able to predict their opponents actions and appropriately plan to counter them. While he had never delved too deep into the field, he had learned a few key lessons during his time in the arena.

One of them being, never turn down the opportunity to network with the movers and shakers. They are the people who you need to convince if you want something done. This was one of the less obvious reasons he held the Transfiguration study sessions.

There were several Heirs and Heiresses to powerful and influential French Pureblood families in his year. Almost all the families held a certain amount of sway in the government. Being in their good books would smooth the wheels for his plans to come to fruition. If he needed help against Voldemort, it would be much harder to simply bribe officials into a deadlock, especially if he personally called for their support.

Antoine Delacour would be a powerful ally, and with his sense of honor, one who would come to England's aid if requested. He was a man who fiercely loved his family and worked hard to defend all French magicals during his time in the Auror Corps. It was one of the main reasons most of the Pureblood families had voted him in as Minister, despite his wife being what they would call, a half-breed.

His star was quickly rising even now, as he had been named as a possible candidate for Head Auror. Archer had surprisingly learned of this from Florian, who had loudly groaned about his father's ranting against the man for tainting a noble Pureblood family's lineage with creature blood.

With all this in mind, he knew that his first impression had to be both excellent and memorable. Mustering all the grace he could, he walked over while mentally reciting the etiquette guidelines Professor Mercier had drilled into his head. He approached Antoine and gave a slight bow before looking him in the eye and introducing himself.

'When greeting a family, always address the patriarch first. If he isn't present, greet the person with the next highest standing in the family. In order, Ladies, Heirs, Heiresses. If none of them are present, you are free to greet any member of the family.'

"Good evening, Lord Delacour. Welcome to Chateau Beaufort. Thank you very much for finding the time to attend my birthday party. I understand that you are very busy man, as a Senior Auror with the Bureau de la Justice Magique."

Antoine looked surprised at his formal greeting if the raised eyebrow was anything to go by. An amused smile formed on his face. "Well met, Mr. Beaufort. It is no problem, seeing as you are a close friend of my eldest daughter. She was quite keen on attending, if the hours of dress shopping were anything to go by."

He stuck his hand forward. "Where are my manners? Lord Antoine Delacour of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Delacour. You may call me Mr. Delacour, as there is no need to observe the formalities for this occasion."

Archer gripped his hand firmly, but not overly so as he mentally went through the handshake etiquette checklist. 'The wizard with the superior social position always offers their hand first. If they are equals, either can offer their hand. One shake is reserved only for pure business or for courtesy's sake. Three shakes indicate honesty and friendliness without seeming overeager.'

He shook Antoine's hand three times before letting go.

Fleur piped in indignantly. "Papa! Don't embarrass me in front of Archer!"

Antoine let out a hearty chuckle at his daughter's expense. "Of course, mon cheri. My apologies."

He turned and grasped his wife's hand and pulled her forward slightly. "Let me introduce you to the rest of my lovely family. This is my wife, Apolline."

Archer saw Apolline giving him a once over before retrieving her hand from her husband and holding it out towards him. He lightly grasped her hand and bent down, giving a slight kiss to the air above her knuckles.

It was considered impolite for the lips to make contact on the hand of a married lady. Thus, it wasn't really expected for married women to offer their hands in an informal setting like this. However, not accepting the gesture when a lady offered her hand was considered the height of rudeness and could be interpreted as an insult to the house she represented.

Looking back up, he gave her a formal greeting as well. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Delacour. Fleur has told me so much about you."

Apolline flashed a genial smile. "Good things, I hope?"

He laughed lightly. "Of course. After all, becoming an accomplished Enchantress such as yourself is not a simple feat. I have seen some of your original creations in a few stores in Place Cachee, and I was highly impressed by their quality and utility.

In fact, I have an abiding interest in Runes, and was looking into the fields it could be applied to. Warding, Cursebreaking, and Enchanting seem to be the three main fields of specialty. So, you can see how excited I am to be in the presence of France's premier Enchantresses."

He felt a wave of magic wash over him as he finished his greeting. It made his mind slightly sluggish and he felt a desire to impress the woman in front of him.

Apolline's spoke, her voice having a slightly sultry and hypnotic effect. "How did you come to be friends with Fleur, Mr. Beaufort?"

Hearing that voice made him want to shout out his reasons, but he held his impulse in check. Within seconds, his Occlumency barriers snapped into place, jolting his mind back to awareness. His magic flared in anger as he realized what just occurred.

His smile tightened as his eyes narrowed. "Please restrain your allure, Lady Delacour. I do not appreciate this impromptu test of my character."

He had never formally met Apolline Delacour before. She had perished while attempting to evacuate with Gabrielle from the Delacour estate. The Death Eaters had targeted the Minister's home and they had been caught in the crossfire. Suffice to say, their deaths hadn't been pretty, and Fleur had taken out her rage against the Death Eaters they fought in England for months after their passing.

Apolline's eyes widened minutely, a couple of seconds later, the feeling in his mind retreated quickly. She immediately started apologizing.

"I'm sorry for the test, Mr. Beaufort. It is just that I am aware of the struggles my daughter was going through before she met you. Due to my husband's job, her heritage is known to almost everyone in the Ministry and Beauxbatons.

With the way Veela are viewed by the magical world at large, I needed to make sure that you were genuinely friends with her and did not have any malicious intent. When it comes to my children, I can never be too safe. I hope you understand why I had to make sure."

Archer took a quiet breath before relaxing his magic but made sure his Occlumency barriers stayed in place. "I understand your reasoning, Lady Delacour. However, I disagree with the method you chose to ascertain the truth."

He was about to continue when he heard a slightly squeaky voice interject. "You were able to resist Maman's allure!"

Looking down, he saw a tiny blonde-haired girl that looked like a miniature version of Fleur looking up at him in awe. He gave a chuckle to dispel any tension before addressing her. "It looks like I did, little Ms. Delacour."

Hearing his address, she pouted adorably. "I am not little! My name is Gabrielle Delacour."

Taking a knee, he came down to her height. "Ah. My apologies, Ms. Gabrielle Delacour. How could anyone as beautiful as you be called little?" He playfully replied.

Gabrielle giggled as she hid behind Apolline. She seemed to be much shyer than he remembered. Then again, he had met her for a grand total of 20 minutes after rescuing her from the bottom of the Black Lake, almost 3 years from now. Merlin, that was confusing to think about.

Getting up, he looked to Fleur and smiled brightly. "I'm so glad you were able to make it Fleur. Thank you very much for coming." He gave her a brief hug.

Fleur grinned. "What kind of friend would I be if I missed your birthday? Also, you know I would never say no to cake!"

Archer laughed. This was something that had come out of the blue. Apparently, Fleur's love for cake, specifically chocolate cake, rivalled Dumbledore's addiction to sweets. Beauxbatons always had some form of cake, and inevitably, Fleur would devour a large quantity with a ferocity that contradicted her petite frame.

"Well, I know for a fact that my parents ordered a chocolate cake for the party from some fancy patisserie in Paris, so I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

She looked at him curiously. "How would you know that?"

He gave her a sly smile.

Her eyes widened. "You knew?!" she asked in a heated whisper.

He put a finger on his lips. "Shh! Of course, I knew. I would have to be blind to not notice."

He stopped talking and looked at his parents, who were in an animated conversation with the Rossi family. "They put in so much effort for me. I couldn't help but want to make their wishes come true. Truthfully, I didn't have many friends growing up.

Now that I'm attending Beauxbatons, I finally gained something they saw was missing in my life. This party is a culmination of all the parties that couldn't be hosted over the last few years."

He smiled as he heard them laugh at something Antonio was talking about. "I'm so blessed to be their son. It was the least I could do for all the love and care they have shown me."

Turning back to the Delacour's, he saw Antoine and Apolline smiling at him. Antoine spoke up. "You are a good son to your parents, Mr. Beaufort. I think they would be proud to know that you have become such a fine young man."

"Thank you, Mr. Delacour. It was a pleasure to meet your family. I must go greet the others. Please make yourself at home and enjoy the refreshments and appetizers. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask."

They nodded and he nodded politely before walking away. Making his way to where his parents were, he walked in on the story of how he started his lectures on Transfiguration for the students in their year.

Tony's parents were mightily impressed, but he immediately waved it off with humility. To change the topic, he started the hilarious story of the time Antonio accidentally transfigured a beetle to a button with legs. One that found its way down his shirt.

They entire group laughed along as he regaled them with Tony's antics and how Laura had found him wriggling on the ground in the middle of class. The evening continued much in the same way, as he introduced himself to his friend's families and shared stories of Beauxbatons with them.

The food was delicious, with several guests praising his parents for their choice of menu. The cake had been the highlight of the evening. His parents had gone all out and ordered a custom chocolate cake from Stohrer, the oldest patisserie in Paris.

Fleur had been overjoyed at eating such a decadent chocolate cake. It had been a big hit with the rest of the guests too, as they all enjoyed the rich texture and the subtle flavors within.

All in all, he had a lot of fun with his friends and for the first time, found himself looking forward to his next birthday. Except now, instead of thinking about duelling and inheritance tests, he thought about inviting his friends over for another party.

As the last of the guests left, he had hugged his parents tightly. "Thank you so much, Maman. Papa. I'm so happy with how it turned out."

His mother reciprocated the hug while his father chuckled.

Sofia cupped his face and looked into his eyes. "Anything for you, my darling. Your father and I were so happy that we could finally throw a party and invite your friends over. We should do this again next year. Maybe we could invite some more of your friends?"

Archer beamed. "That would be great, Maman. I'll definitely make more friends so we can make that happen." He felt a hand ruffling his hair as he looked at his father.

Jean winked at him as he spoke. "Thank you for going along with the surprise, son. It meant a lot to us."

Archer blinked. "You knew I wasn't surprised? How?"

Sofia giggled. "You are not as good an actor as you think, mon ange. We watched you grow up since the day we took you home. You may have fooled the guests, but you can't fool us. My little genius would obviously notice our preparations even if we tried to hide it."

She pouted as she teased him. You're just too smart, my darling son."

Archer playfully scowled. "Maman, I'm 12. I'm no longer little."

She laughed as she pulled him into a hug and cuddled him like a stuffed toy. "You'll always be my little boy, Archer. Even when you are a grown man with children of your own."

He sighed as he let her continue her ministrations. He glared at his father, who was trying to hold in his laughter as he watched. Seeing as there was no way out of the situation, he gave up his half-hearted struggle and let his mother continue pinching his cheeks.

He went to bed satisfied and hopeful. Today had been a great day, and some of the anxiety that he had carried over from his past life had decreased. Maybe his future birthdays would be like this. Filled with friends and family who all cared for him. It didn't sound too bad, now that he got his first taste of what it was like.

Waking up the next day, he restarted the routine he had established over Winter holidays. He had gotten quite far into the memories of his previous life, already experiencing the Westminster Massacre and the initial meeting of the two worlds.

After Voldemort's publicity stunt had gotten worldwide news coverage, the entire non-magical world lost their collective minds. Many were fearful of the existence of entire communities of people that had supernatural powers living among them. The Catholics had very strong opinions against the magical community, citing the phrase "thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."

Governments all around the world had trouble calming down their citizens as they desperately tried to communicate with their magical counterparts. Riots erupted and witch hunts would have started anew, had the Pope himself not called for peace.

In a surprise move, the Holy See released every record they had of the Magical world and its various communities around the globe. Pope John Paul II gave a televised press conference that informed the world of the sordid history behind Pope Innocent VII.

Pope Innocent had been the first to actively condemn witchcraft and send Inquisitors into Germany to hunt and execute witches. Shockingly, the Pope revealed the status of Innocent as a squib who had been abandoned by his magical family. The rage and jealousy of not having the gift of magic gave way to the violence that caused the Magical world to go into hiding.

He stated that the Church had since apologized to their magical brethren and had cooperated with them on numerous occasions. The Inquisition turned out to be a group of magicals under the Church who protected the non-magical population from magical threats. They also helped hide non-magical born witches and wizards along with their families to prevent persecution and protect them.

The revelations had shocked the entire world. The ICW then issued a formal statement corroborating what the Pope had said and encouraged magicals to stay calm and not be quick to violence. They tried to encourage peace and understanding between them and the Non-magicals, and many had listened to them.

However, some of the people in England had seen the destruction Voldemort had caused and took measures into their own hands. This led to several families with young non-magical born children being discovered and lynched in the street out of revenge.

Sickened by their actions, the Death Eaters had retaliated. It had devolved into a gigantic clusterfuck of escalating violence that didn't end until the British Army was deployed to keep the peace. MI5 and MI6 scrambled to figure out what the hell was going on and they were eventually able to locate the magical resistance.

He smiled at the thought. Non-magicals had proven to be rather open-minded when it came to dealing with the new world that had been introduced to them in the worst way possible. Their pragmatism and willingness to put personal feelings aside and cooperate had been a godsend to the splintered British magical community.

His forces hadn't been the only resistance group around. Several others had popped up all over the UK. The only problem was their unwillingness to follow him or make a compromise. They saw him as an incompetent child who knew nothing of war and violence.

The Daily Prophet had brainwashed them into thinking he was simply coasting off his name all his life. They sadly hadn't figured out their mistakes before Voldemort and his Death Eaters wiped them all out.

He had been rather ambivalent, seeing as unlike his group, none of them had made any real difference. The only thing he had lost in their deaths were spare wands.

It was a horrible way to think about other people, but the times had been so chaotic, and death had been felt everywhere. It became normalized to the point that he could look at severe casualty statistics and not feel any sadness at the loss of life.

Finishing up his daily run, he tried to catch his breath as he stretched. After a quick shower and breakfast, he would start progressing through his control drills once again. They had been helping him immensely in gaining control over his burgeoning channeling capacity.

Laura's words of him being abnormally powerful rang in his ears as he witnessed his power rising steadily as he pushed himself in the exercises. He had a sense of excitement and trepidation when it came to his power. With the rituals he planned on undergoing before his 14th birthday, he would undoubtedly be the most powerful of his generation.

Was that enough though? His experience in the magical world was rather shallow, limited mainly to whatever books he had. He had never visited any international magical locations. Who knew if there existed some supremely powerful witches and wizards who could easily match him?

Hell, he didn't even know how strong Dumbledore was in relation to him. Not that he could find out anytime soon, seeing as the man had lived for 110 years. A man of his renown was likely to have gone through a couple of rituals in his time. Probably before they were deemed "Dark" by the Ministry or the ICW.

That brought him up short. He still had no idea about Dark magic in this reality. All his searches for information had yielded only the most basic information that it was outlawed and significantly damaging to all magicals.

He would have to be careful, because asking about it might set off alarms. Perhaps a visit to Allee d'Ombre, the French equivalent of Knockturn Alley, would get him some books that would provide a better perspective on the downsides of the Dark Arts. He hoped that it wouldn't affect him too much, as the Dark Arts were some of the most effective spells he knew when it came to battle.

However, that couldn't happen until after his 13th birthday. Rushing in without a plan and possibly damaging his potential was not something he wanted to do. He would have to take a page from Tom's book and charm his teachers by demonstrating intense, but purely academic curiosity. Laura would probably be the most receptive to this, but he needed to interact more with her before asking.

The rest of the summer flew by as he worked hard in his studies and kept up with his martial arts and fencing practice. Desjardin had pointed him towards several books, which he had owl ordered from Magillard's. Nearly all of them mentioned the importance of dodging with many emphasizing footwork.

It went directly against what Morgana had drilled into him, but there was a clear difference in the purpose behind the instruction. Morgana had been preparing him for a war. War was chaos, and as the saying went, no plan survived first contact with the enemy.

Even the small skirmishes in the beginning stages had been disorganized at best. Even if they had tactics and formations they used, spellfire would barrel towards them from all directions. There were no such things as one-on-one duels in a battle. Thus, learning to shield against spells with the smallest amount of magic necessary was an essential skill to have.

When it came to duelling, he knew that it was highly regulated. Meaning two duellists would face each other on a rectangular platform with a runic shield encompassing the stage. Dodging was encouraged to save energy and batting away spells was considered the most useful skill in a duellist's arsenal.

He knew the spell behind spell catching and diverting spells. The _Averto_ spell formed a highly concentrated multi-layered shield on the tip of the wand. In conjunction with good hand eye coordination, it could easily handle most spells that a standard Death Eater would know other than the Unforgivables. There were certain highly Dark spells that could not be caught, but those were usually only known by and kept within the Inner Circle.

The books had mentioned that there were several acknowledged styles all around the world. Usually, the style a duellist preferred had a lot to do with the region or country they grew up in. Though in their introductions, they all encouraged finding the style that was the best fit, and not limiting oneself to any single style.

For France, the Fencer's style was the choice for most up and coming duellists. The reason being, most French professional duellists swore by the style and it's practicality, and the use of fencing as a training tool made this the easiest style to transition into.

He also got a look at some of the other acclaimed styles around the world. Britain's was known as the Knight Style. Focused on solid defence with heavy attacks and barrages to disrupt their opponent's tempo. It was an effective style for duelling, but not without its drawbacks.

Namely, if the opponent had higher endurance, constantly dodging and shielding would tire a duellist out quickly. Unless of course, they were like him and had a much higher than average channeling capacity.

After the rituals, he doubted that anybody his age would get close, unless they too went through similar enhancement rituals. Though, he was convinced none would be as potent as his unless they were Dark rituals. Then it became a tossup between who had more skill. He honestly wasn't worried if it came to that.

He was interested in some of the Eastern styles though. The Japanese had their Interceptor style, favoring to mirror their opponents moves while throwing in numerous feints and distractions to catch them off guard. It was a style that would work well with his Battle Transfiguration.

The Chinese duelling styles took a lot of inspiration from their myriad traditional martial art forms. Animal based styles were by far the most popular, with the Tiger, Dragon, Snake, and Jaguar styles dominating on the professional circuit. Each had their positives and drawbacks, and he could see himself maybe incorporating a bit of each into his own personal style.

Then came the highly personalized styles used by the greatest duellists in the last fifty years. Two individuals were featured in every book he had. Gellert Grindelwald and Filius Flitwick. Acknowledged as some of the best duellists of their respective generations, the books did their best to break down their styles in pain-staking detail.

Flitwick's personal style focused heavily on acrobatic dodging while simultaneously speed casting. His favorite tactic was to unsettle his opponents footing and use a clever combination of charms to break shields in a way that allowed a lot of versatility in his offense.

Charms like _Glisseo_, that made a surface slippery. The combination of _Aguamenti_ and _Glacius_ could form jagged, icy terrain below his opponent's feet and doubled as a quick and dirty shield breaker. The man could use the same charms that he taught his Hogwarts students to put down some of the most formidable duellists in the world.

One of the books showed a photo of Flitwick casting an overpowered _Aguamenti_ at his opponent's shield, only to freeze it barely 2 seconds later with a _Glacius_ while swiftly following it up with a _Bombarda_, detonating the newly formed ice. A quick _Geminio_ doubling the amount of shrapnel from the explosion and an overpowered _Depulso_ sending it all towards his opponent, who didn't manage to switch to a physical shield in time.

The style was simple, yet effective, with many unable to even hit the man due to him constantly bouncing around the arena. When interviewed, Flitwick said his style incorporated the essence of the Monkey style, while also adapting it to his short but stocky stature.

Grindelwald's style was much harder to pin down compared to Flitwick's. Many books had differing opinions as to what the Dark Lord's true personal style was. However, every single book had one thing in common, they praised his tactical acumen and adaptability. He never truly stuck to one style, constantly changing, sometimes even mid-duel to counter his opponent.

The man's intelligence allowed him to test his opponents and learn their style quickly. Within seconds, slow shifts would start happening. Instead of going for a traditional tactic, Grindelwald would attempt something unorthodox, simply to see how his opponent reacted. After observing a couple of times, he would dissect, pinpoint, and precisely attack the weaknesses of his opponent's style.

It was one of the main reasons the man was so feared in both the duelling ring and the battlefield. Combined with his immense magical strength and knowledge of the Dark Arts, fighting him was an absolute nightmare for most people.

It suddenly made sense to him why Dumbledore was so revered for defeating the man even 50 years after the fact. The terror Grindelwald inspired with his prowess had a lasting effect on the entire European continent.

Archer was curious though. Surely Gellert had a personal style? The man was too experienced of a duellist to not have some tried and tested methods to overwhelm his opponents. Leaving that aside, if there was one thing he wanted to incorporate, it was the ability to adapt to his opponent's style.

It would be extremely useful both in a duel and a battle as the man had proven. He already had some experience in reacting to a changing battlefield and calling out formation shifts mid-fight. This would probably be much easier than changing tactics while facing off against hordes of demons.

September 1st arrived a lot quicker than he expected. He woke up early and went through his daily routine. The only difference being he skipped his Occlumency practice to pack his trunk instead. The portkey had arrived via owl a week ago, so he made sure to owl order his schoolbooks and supplies early.

He didn't bother with buying the second-year Transfiguration textbook, as Laura wasn't going to make him work out of it. He was excited to get back to learning, as they had just touched upon lower N.E.W.T. level theory when the year ended.

His swift learning speed had impressed her enough that they directly skipped over third, fourth, and fifth year theory. If only his practical skills would catch up.

Archer took a deep breath. 'It's okay. Focus on the positives. Renaud offered me some of his time. I could ask him why self-identity is so strongly related to Transfiguration.'

That was something that had been bothering Archer for a while. Laura had mentioned that a strong sense of self was crucial to Transfiguration, but not really gone into detail. Surely it was more than just the volatility of wild magic affecting the mind. There had to be some deeper reason.

His send off this year was much less emotional, as his mother didn't succumb to her usual waterworks. The same promises of frequent photos and weekly letters were traded before he activated the portkey and was whisked away to start his second year at Beauxbatons.

This time, he landed in a separate area from the building he had first arrived in. This turned out to be the normal student portkey arrival and departure lounge. The incoming first years had a specially designated building outside the chateau to make it easy for the teachers to take them on a tour of the campus.

Making his way to the dormitories, he saw a sign detailing the new accommodations for returning students. Second years would stay on the second floor, so he made his way up the stairs to the second year Common Room.

Upon entering, he was greeted by several people who were lounging around in groups. They informed him that their roommates were the same as last year, and the doors worked the same way. Thanking them, he made his way down the corridor, searching for the plaque with his name on it.

He found it within half a minute and tapped his wand on his nameplate. The door opened with a click and he stepped inside, only to be pounced on by an excited Tony.

"Archer! How are you doing man? Haven't seen you since your birthday party!"

Archer grinned as he dropped his suitcase and returned Tony's enthusiastic hug. "I'm doing great, Tony! Excited to start the year. How about yourself?"

Tony pumped his fist in the air. "I'm also doing great! Can you believe we're already starting our second year?! It feels like yesterday that we met for the first time."

Archer smiled. He honestly couldn't believe it either. Even with the constant reminders about his limitations in Transfiguration and his excitement about duelling, he still lost track sometimes.

'Guess time really does fly by when you're having fun.'

"Archer, you ok?"

Tony's question jolted him back to reality.

"I'm fine, Tony. Can't wait to start classes and get back to learning with Laura."

Antonio slyly smirked. "Ahh. Missing Professor Thebault's company, are you? Is our dear Archer in loo-"

Archer deadpanned. "Complete that sentence and you're on your own in Transfiguration for the rest of the semester."

"Ahh, I'm joking. It was just a joke! You wouldn't abandon your best friend Tony, would you?!"

Archer smirked victoriously. "Keep making comments like that and you'll find out."

"Uncle, Uncle! I need your help, Archer. I don't think I would do half as well in that class without your help. Those lectures you gave last year were the best! They helped me so much. Have you ever thought about teaching as a career?"

Archer paused. 'Huh. I am a damn good teacher, aren't I? Maybe after I kill the Dark Wanker, I can try it out. Merlin knows I wouldn't want to become an Auror or work for any Ministry.'

"I don't know Tony. There are so many things I want to do. I'll keep it in mind though."

A hand squeezed his shoulder. "You have a gift Archer, but If you don't want to do something, then don't. My family has a saying: Become whatever you want to be, but never settle for second best."

Archer nodded. "That's a wise and ambitious saying. All I know right now, is that I want to become a Transfiguration Master. I guess now I'll simply have to aim to be greater than Albus Dumbledore himself."

Tony grinned. "That's some goal. You have your work cut out for you. I know! Why don't you start your journey by personally tutoring me in Transfiguration! After all, Albus Dumbledore taught Transfiguration at Hogwarts for several years."

Archer laughed while shaking his head. No matter how serious their conversations became, Tony would always be Tony. He picked up his trunk and made his way to the corner room, ignoring Tony's loud pleading.

Opening his trunk on the bed, he waved his wand, directing all the items within to their designated space in his room. The wardrobe was quickly filled up with his uniform and casual clothes, the dresser was populated with his undergarments and other accessories.

His writing desk was filled with all the things he needed to complete his assignments. Multiple No-Refill Quills with an Ever-Neat enchantment, a heaping stack of parchment paper and several books to fill up the large bookcase situated next to the desk.

He took a quick look around, seeing if he missed anything. Satisfied he walked over to the bookshelf and was about to grab one of the newer additions to his collection when he heard laughter from outside.

Making his way out, he saw Javier and Louis sitting on the couch opposite Tony. Louis saw him first and enthusiastically waved him over.

"Archer! Come over here, man! How've you been?"

Archer smiled as he sauntered over to the group. "I've been well. How about yourself?"

"Great! By the way, I loved the birthday party. I didn't know your family owned Beaufort Metals. My parents were very surprised when we arrived at your family chateau."

Archer waved it off. "What business my family owns doesn't matter here. After all, to magicals, the business is simply just another non-magical business. I was genuinely surprised to find that Fleur's family and a bunch of other metal enchanting companies in Europe ordered their material from us. I think a couple of students in our year are from the families that own them."

Louis was surprised. "Really? I thought magicals wouldn't really bother associating with a non-magical business."

Javier snorted. "I don't know were you got that idea from, Louis. Several older wizarding families have business ties in the non-magical world. I know my family owns a couple of textile factories that we use to mass produce enchanted fabrics on custom looms. A majority of the raw acromantula silk in Western Europe gets processed in one of the factories we own."

Their conversation went on for hours, as they caught up with each other and talked about the year ahead of them. All his roommates begged for him to continue his lectures in Transfiguration, but Louis was adamant he expands to Charms as well.

"I know you're good in Transfiguration, but you're also a genius in Charms. I saw last year's ranking Desjardin put out! You were first by a large margin!"

Archer was hesitant. "Well, I don't know. After all, I'm not really a teacher. I do the Transfiguration lectures only because Laura encouraged me to do it as a review. Charms are a whole other subject, and lecturing will take extra time out of my schedule."

Tony interrupted. "Alright, how about you lecture on Charms, but only to us. We can make it worth your while, right guys?"

Javier and Louis nodded.

Archer was still unsure. "You're my best friends. You don't have to pay me for it if it's just the three of you. We can have study sessions in the evenings every day we have Charms."

Javier piped up. "That won't work though. Last year, we were lucky to all have the same schedule. This year, that might not be the case."

Archer looked at him questioningly. "What do you mean? How does the scheduling work?"

"Depending on the number of people in the year, they split it into 3 or 4 groups. Each group gets a different schedule. I think our year has roughly 180-ish people or so. Most likely, we were divided by 4. That means half of us could be on different schedules, or all four of us will have different schedules." Tony explained.

"That would suck. I got used to having you guys in my class. I hope we all get to stick together this year too." Louis was disheartened at the news that they might not be in class together.

Javier clapped him on the back. "Cheer up, Louis! We won't know our schedules until tomorrow. Worrying about it now won't help."

Louis still looked slightly apprehensive, but Javier's encouragement seemed to have alleviated some of his worries.

"Speaking of schedules, we need to get to the Dining Chamber. It's already 6:00." Tony pointed out, directing their attention to the clock in the living room.

Louis leaped off the couch. "I want to take a shower before we go. Let's meet back here at say, 6:30?"

They all agreed and left to go get ready. Archer decided to take a shower as well before freshening up and getting dressed. The school uniform still fit him quite well, mainly because his mother had gotten an enlarging enchantment on it to make sure it would fit for at least two years.

Taking one last look in the mirror and casting a Ironing Charm on his jacket, he stepped out of his room and into the living room of their dorm. Tony sat there reading a book on Runes, but Javier and Louis had yet to arrive.

"Hey Tony. Are you interested in Runes?"

"Yeah. My family makes money through Warding services. Let's just say Italians don't trust the goblins of Gringotts. Especially not after the way they turned against la Resistenza, the Italian Resistance, during the Global Wizarding War.

Knowing that those traitorous little bastards had a monopoly in the banking sector, people started storing their excess wealth in their homes. The goblins cannot force people to store their wealth with them, so there was nothing they could do about it.

This had the added benefit of preventing the Italian Ministry from freezing a family's assets. While sentiments have slowly changed with non-magical born people entering the community, older families still avail themselves of our services. My family went into the business of securing people's homes and wealth after the war, and we've been flourishing for almost 50 years now."

Archer was surprised. "Do all Italian magicals not trust the goblins?"

"Ninety percent don't, and for good reason. My great grandfather died during a raid by the magical wing of Mussolini's Black Shirts. The leaders in the Italian Ministry at the time, supported him during his rule and allowed him to extend his tyranny into Magical Italy. They bribed the goblins into giving them the names and information of key players in the resistance and drove several Pureblood lines to near extinction in the process."

Archer was quiet as he absorbed the information. Who knew there was such nuance between magical and non-magical history? There were so many instances of them working together, only for the non-magicals to never realize it.

Did magicals ever erase the true history of a conflict? How else had non-magical history been affected by the magical world? These questions would make for an interesting side project that could give him a lot of helpful knowledge for the future. He mentally noted down to go make a trip to the library and see what he could dig up on the topic.

It was at this moment that Javier walked out of his room. Louis came a minute after he did, and they made their way to the Dining Chamber. Upon arrival, this time, they were directed to sit at the second rightmost table. It looked like as they progressed through the years, their table would change.

Madame Maxime made her traditional opening speech, and it was word for word what they had gotten last year. Ignoring it for the most part, they waited until the food appeared and dug in.

With their bellies bulging from extra dessert, they made their way back to the dorm and flopped into their beds, excited to start classes tomorrow.

The next morning, Archer woke up early, as usual, and dressed in his workout gear before making his way towards the gymnasium. He had decided to take his saber with him, as he realized not practicing for months on end had made his skills slightly rusty. He worked hard for several years on his fencing skills, and he was not about to lose his edge due to laziness.

He found out from Desjardin that there was an animated training dummy for fencing that had different skill levels to simulate enemies. He had promised to look over and refresh the enchantments for him so he could make use of it on the first day of classes.

Alighting the platform, he saw the dummy on the opposite side and smiled. Walking over to it, he saw a piece of parchment on the back. Unfolding and reading its contents, he gave a smile as he went through the intuitive operating instructions.

Finishing his read through of the manual, he lit it on fire and burned the parchment to ashes. A quick _Scourgify_ cleaned up the ash residue as he placed his wand on the back of the dummy's neck to activate it.

The rune cluster glowed briefly, indicating it had been activated, and he selected the first level to warm up and get a baseline. The dummy's eyes glowed as it straightened its posture. It looked to be waiting for him, so Archer walked over to the other side of the platform and drew his saber.

As if sensing his intent, a short steel sword appeared in the dummy's right hand as it fell into a basic fencing stance. Archer readied himself and stepped forward. Almost immediately, the dummy took the initiative to attack. The sword came swinging towards him from the right.

Archer quickly deflected the strike upwards and stepped in close bringing his saber slashing down towards the dummy's neck. Following through, he saw a clean cut appear on his target. Taking a few steps back, he waited for it to react.

The dummy's eyes dimmed momentarily and the sword in its hand disappeared. Within seconds, the cut started mending, and the dummy returned to its original position. As it went back to its place, its eyes dimmed, indicating that the spar was over.

'That was utterly disappointing.' Archer mused as he saw the dummy deactivate. 'Then again, it was only the lowest setting.'

Professor Desjardin had mentioned that it had 10 levels, with level 10 being modeled after a Beauxbatons alumni from 250 years previous who was considered the finest swordsmen in French magical history. To be honest, he desperately wanted to experience the skill of the man who commanded such a title, but his caution prevented him from making a foolish decision out of impulse.

'I just need to find a limit today, no need to go too hard off the bat.' Archer thought as he approached the dummy a second time. Instead of going up only a single level, maybe level 3 would be more of a challenge. Depending on how he fared, he could choose to skip the next level.

Touching his wand to the rune cluster, he selected the third level and walked back to his position. This time, the changes were clearly noticeable. The dummy's stance was steadier, with and had changed up the way it held its sword. He could feel it within his bones that it was going to be a good spar.

This time, he took the initiative and closed the distance swiftly. The dummy's reaction was much faster, having already stepped back to keep him within attacking distance but not let itself be vulnerable. Their swords clashed against each other many times as they fought.

Archer took a couple steps back and disengaged as he considered what tactic to use. Working through his initial interactions, he noticed the dummy tended to go for heavy swings after a series of light strikes to break his stance.

With a clear plan in mind, he stepped into its attacking range, baiting it successfully. It attacked quickly, sending repeated strikes to push him back. He purposely loosened his grip, pretending to have been affected more than he had. As if sensing this, the dummy struck swiftly from above, sending a heavy strike towards his head.

Archer waited until the last moment before deftly sidestepping the strike. The dummy's power caused it to overextend, something Archer used to his advantage. He sent a powerful and well-aimed thrust directly at the dummy's heart. He felt his saber sink into the soft fleshy material, his sword materializing from the back.

The dummy paused and straightened. This time, it didn't move, which probably meant that he had to retrieve his saber first before it could recover and go back. Pulling out his saber, he saw the hole he left start to mend as the dummy turned around and walked back into its default position.

'Three turned out to be fun, but harder than I expected. Hopefully, level four will be the sweet spot, but I'm out of time for today.' He sighed as he sheathed his saber. He had gotten a good workout, but if level four was his limit, he still had a long way to go.

He made his way back to his dorm and immediately went for a shower. Finishing his shower, he got dressed and waited for his roommates. It took them some time, but they eventually arrived in the living room. They made small talk about what their schedules might look like as they proceeded to the Dining Chamber.

Upon arriving, Archer started grabbing the various breakfast foods and piling them onto his plate. They excitedly talked about what they might learn in the coming year when Laura approached them.

"Good morning, gentleman. This year, I have been assigned to hand out your schedules." She tapped her wand on a piece of parchment. "Mr. Rossi and Mr. Diaz, these will be your schedules."

Antonio and Javier received their schedules anxiously. Seeing the spread of the core classes, they simultaneously winced.

"Mr. Beaufort and Mr. Dreyfus, here are yours." She handed Louis and him their schedules and he quickly scanned through it. It wasn't that bad. The only downside was the amount of homework that would be assigned on Tuesdays and Fridays.

Looking across the table, the disappointment from Tony and Javier was palpable. He would no longer be able to help them with their in-class practical assignments, meaning they would most likely be assigned extra homework consequently. Louis seemed over the moon, as they would share all their classes. This meant that he could get his help whenever he needed.

They all thanked Laura and she nodded back. Before turning away, she looked at him. "Archer. Meet me in my office hours on Wednesday and we will figure out our study schedule for the year. I'm confident we will touch upon upper N.E.W.T level theory by the end of the year."

Archer nodded. "Of course, Professor Thebault. I can't wait for our lessons to start."

She nodded back before bidding them goodbye and making her way back to the staff table.

Knowing they had different schedules, Tony and Javier were even more adamant that he coaches them in Charms, seeing as neither of them grasped the spells quickly. They saw that him and Louis had Charms before them, so they had the advantage of being able to study the material and attempt the spells ahead of time. Not being assigned extra Charms work would be a godsend to them.

The year started from there, and the same pattern continued till Winter Holidays. He had gotten into a routine with the dummy, alternating his workouts to focus on a mixture of fencing, martial arts, and magical control exercises.

He improved by leaps and bounds when it came to facing the dummy. After a few months of constant practice, he had progressed to comfortably being able to handle level 5. Level 5 seemed to be his physical limit, seeing as he had yet to undergo his secondary maturity.

The one time he had tried level six, he had regretted it. The fifth level acted as a threshold in skill. Levels one through five were incremental and easy to predict. After that, the dummy's skill increased dramatically. It took less than a minute for the dummy to handily defeat him via disarming.

He mentioned his progress to Desjardin, and he had been very impressed. He had initially expressed disappointment at not being able to pass level five, but Desjardin had put things into perspective for him.

"Archer, that dummy's skills are set at a standard from a very specific time in history. A time in which knowledge of using a sword was crucial, and being a skilled swordsman was the primary way of defending oneself in the non-magical world.

As a long time has passed, that is no longer the case. The art of sword fighting has nowadays been relegated to sport and competition. The dummy's skill levels have not been adjusted to account for this lack of necessity.

That is why you should be extremely proud of being able to handle the fifth level. If anything, it shows how skilled you are in comparison to the swordsman of the time."

Archer had felt much better about it after the conversation, but still wanted to get better. The challenge that came with exceeding his natural limits was what spurred him on. He had noticed a definite improvement in his reflexes after months of training with the dummy, which was invaluable in the dueling arena.

Also, any improvements he made by pushing himself physically before undergoing the rituals, would eke out even more potential gains after he conducted them. Even after doing the rituals, he would push himself to keep improving. A war required one to have outstanding physical fitness after all.

The Winter holidays arrived, and he went back home for break. The Delacour's invited his family to their New Year's Ball, and it turned out to be fun. His parents had been introduced to several magical families over the course of the evening. Many Ministry officials had been surprised to find out one of the richest non-magical families in France had a magical child.

While Jean and Sofia weren't knowledgeable enough to comment on the politics of Magical France, their natural curiosity and willingness to listen and learn endeared them to many people. A small problem arose when one of the Pureblood heads found out that they were non-magical, but that had been resolved quickly with his intervention.

It turned out that he knew a lot of the kids at the ball, and news of his Transfiguration lectures had come to the attention of the upper years. Many of them had younger siblings in his year who had attended at least one. To his surprise, one of the upper years told him that Renaud had mentioned him during one of his lessons.

They were able to quickly smooth over any problems as the Purebloods came to realize that he had a lot of potential if the great Transfiguration Master Bertrand Renaud complimented him.

The fact that he willingly taught quite a few of their children ingratiated him to them even more. Overall, his family's first event in the magical world had been a resounding success, with several promises of future invitations.

It had been gratifying to see the results of his efforts. Even the snootiest Pureblood Lords would hold their prejudices in check, not wanting to offend a promising young man like him. He had also used the opportunity to network within the French Ministry and gotten the chance to interact with the French Minister for Magic himself.

Having his achievements and potential recognized by the Minister in front of several noteworthy Lords and Department heads had been the highlight of his night. He could feel that he had made a good impression on the people in power.

Now came the hard part, which was maintaining those connections and laying the groundwork to make France take the initiative to fight against Voldemort upon his return.

He was under no delusions that he could effectively stop Voldemort from being resurrected. He would do his best to fight against it, no doubt, but he knew in his gut that there were external forces at work here.

Small clues, like his date of birth, his background as a magical orphan. The power he held not only due to his prior knowledge, but the outstanding potential his body had come equipped with. The way his magic worked fundamentally in a different way from the norm of this reality.

All of these pointed to some supernatural force, be it Fate or whoever, was pulling the strings behind the curtain. He had met Fate in his past life, and their meeting hadn't been a good one. She had all but demanded he fight to the death, knowing he would cross over to this new reality.

She had given him her blessing, whatever that meant. He didn't understand how exactly it worked, but something about it felt familiar. He had managed to relive all his previous memories and noticed something odd.

While he initially ascribed his survival against seemingly insurmountable odds as the result of Dumbledore's machinations, it wasn't until he viewed his life from an outsider's perspective that something became clear to him. Even with Dumbledore subtly manipulating the outcome of certain events, it was impossible to account for everything that happened.

The best example he could think of was his battle in the Chamber of Secrets. He had no doubt that Fawkes had flashed in with the Sorting Hat on Dumbledore's orders. After all, if Fawkes could flash into the chamber, there was no reason Dumbledore couldn't accompany him. That would mean he had known exactly where it was but hadn't deigned to do anything about the basilisk inside it.

His fight against the basilisk was predicted, but there was nothing Dumbledore could do after he was poisoned by the basilisk venom. Basilisk venom had no known anti-venom. Phoenix tears, while a potent healing agent and a key ingredient in expensive and exotic healing potions, was not a substitute for an anti-venom. Especially not for a basilisk as old as Salazar Slytherin's.

There was technically no possible way for him to survive that ordeal, but he had. The phoenix tears had fought with the basilisk venom in his body, and by some miracle, they stayed in his blood. In a state of perpetual conflict, they protected him from other poisons and increasing his rate of recovery.

Not to mention, the venom and tears fortified his magic in a completely unique way that hadn't been observed ever before. It had been very enlightening to find out after getting his first medical checkup after volunteering for the Slayer squadrons.

So, from that moment on, he started looking deeper, and he found several instances where death was a foregone conclusion, only for him to survive against all odds. His meeting with Fate and her explanation had shed some light on his situation.

He was the Chosen One of a True Prophecy. That meant that he would fulfill the contents of the prophecy, regardless of what anyone tried. Of course, he could have still died if he committed suicide or been reckless and irresponsible with his life.

The reason he had survived was because he was acting on the prophecy and didn't want to die. He fought tooth and nail to survive, which allowed Fate to slightly alter his luck in certain situations, ensuring his continued survival.

It was a trip to find out that if not for her repeated interventions, he would never have survived past his second year. Then again, he ultimately had fought Voldemort to the death. The bastard had died first from a Killing Curse, which fulfilled the whole "neither can live while the other survives" part of the prophecy.

Shortly after, he had died(?). He honestly wasn't sure if his current circumstances counted as dying, seeing as he was alive, albeit in another world. She had predicted this but hadn't elaborated as to how he inadvertently activated the ritual and arrived in this world.

Hopefully, the Inheritance Ritual he would take at Gringotts would shed some light on his circumstances. With his skills in magic, he had no doubt his background would be extraordinary. He loved Jean and Sofia, and would forever consider them his parents, but he had to know who his birth parents were, if only to regain his Transfiguration skills.

The second semester began, and he restarted his lectures in Transfiguration. This time, the attendance was much more than he anticipated. Apparently, Renaud had told his O.W.L. students to attend if they wanted to brush up on second year concepts for their exams.

Laura had attended as usual, sitting in a corner with quill and parchment in hand, noting down her observations and critiques. The first session went very well, and he was approached by the upper years afterward. They all thanked him for the review and introduced themselves formally.

He graciously accepted their compliments and made their acquaintance. He was slowly ingratiating himself with most of the school, and would no doubt be very popular once he was an upper year himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Renaud approaching him. Saying his goodbyes to the group, he turned and focused on him. A ghost of a smile flitted across Renaud's face before vanishing just as quickly as it came.

"Yet another excellent lecture Mr. Beaufort. If I didn't know any better, I would think that you were a visiting lecturer from the guild."

Archer laughed lightly. "I appreciate the compliment Grandmaster Renaud. However, my current practical skills are nowhere near sufficient to justify such high praise from you."

That was one thing he had learned over Winter break. Renaud had been officially acknowledged by the guild and granted the title of Grandmaster. This was a big deal both for Renaud and Beauxbatons. He was now one of the ten people in the entire world who held the title of Transfiguration Grandmaster.

Beauxbatons effectively became the only school who had a Grandmaster that directly taught students. This would mean that many more magical families would consider Beauxbatons for their child's magical education, seeing as no other school could offer anything similar.

"So, you did hear about it. I am simply glad the guild felt that I deserved such an honor. I remember last year I extended an invitation to talk. While I am not offended, may I ask why exactly you have not taken me up on it?"

"If I remember correctly, you specified in your invitation that you were free whenever Professor Thebault was focusing on her research. I have been helping her with testing it, so she has never really been unavailable to me, so to speak."

Renaud hummed as he lightly stroked his beard. "I see. She must have been very impressed by your progress to have recruited you for testing. How is it going so far if you don't mind me asking?"

"I cannot really say, as it is Professor Thebault's personal research. I would ask you to direct your query to her if you want to find out the status of our experiments."

Renaud smiled genuinely this time. "You are quite loyal, Mr. Beaufort. It is a good quality to have, especially for a future apprentice."

Archer blinked. "Future apprentice, sir?"

"Of course. Or did you think that Laura would allow anybody to help her with her personal research? No Mr. Beaufort, she has tested you, and found you worthy of becoming an apprentice. I have no doubt that once the year ends, she will offer the position to you."

That came as a huge surprise. He was only a second year, which was fine because his current official title was that of an assistant. Masters had no limit on how many assistants they could take. It was usually seen as a steppingstone to become an apprentice, but he was too young to graduate to an apprenticeship. So, he voiced this concern.

"Sir, aren't I too young to be an apprentice? I thought only those who have completed their primary magical education were able to seek and accept apprenticeships."

Renaud waved his hand. "That is all well and good from the ICW's standpoint, but the guilds have always operated on a very different set of rules when it comes to apprenticeships. Any qualified Master or Mistress can take on an apprentice, so long as both have a clear understanding of the magical agreement they are entering, and both do so willingly. You are an extremely talented young man Mr. Beaufort, and if Laura doesn't take you on, I might just do so myself."

This was a lot for Archer to process, so he switched the subject.

"Well, I hope your assessment of Professor Thebault's intentions are correct. I would love to be her apprentice. There was one thing that I wanted to know though. When we first met, she told me that being an orphan was affecting my skills in Transfiguration, as self-identity was critical to casting any advanced spells. May I know why exactly that is the case?"

Renaud subtly tensed, and if Archer hadn't been closely scrutinizing the man, he would have missed it.

"I see. This is a conversation that would be best in my office, as the information you are asking for is… of a sensitive nature."

Archer internally scowled. 'Sensitive nature? What the hell is sensitive about knowing why one of the fundamental necessities of Transfiguration existed.'

On the surface, he maintained his calm expression and replied. "Then could we please schedule a time for this conversation. It is very important to me that I find out about why this concept is so important."

Renaud nodded. "We can talk this coming Friday, as I believe your schedule is quite lax during the afternoon and evening. I will let you know the previous day regarding the time."

Archer nodded. "Thank you very much, Grandmaster Renaud. I look forward to our meeting."

Renaud nodded once before heading towards Laura at the back of the room.

He looked forward to Friday, when he would finally learn why the hell his Transfiguration skills were so limited because of something that seemed to so unnecessary.

The day flew by as he continued his daily lectures and his research with Laura. Things were going well, and he had been notified right after his lecture that his meeting with Renaud would be right after lunch tomorrow.

He went to bed slightly anxious as tomorrow would answer one of his most burning questions that Laura had never bothered to answer. Waking up, he went through his daily routine and attended his classes as usual.

After lunch, he bid Louis goodbye before making his way to Renaud's office. Reaching his destination, he knocked three times and waited. His breathing sped up slightly. This was it. The moment of truth.

"Come in!" A deep, baritone voice called out from behind the door.

Twisting the handle, he stepped in and greeted Renaud. "Good afternoon, Grandmaster Renaud. I'm here for our meeting."

"Ah, Mr. Beaufort. Close the door behind you and have a seat." Renaud was seated in an oversized leather armchair behind a large mahogany desk. Papers were neatly stacked in different piles and he had on a pair of thin oval reading glasses as held what looked like an essay in his hand."

Following his directions, Archer came and took a seat on the comfortable chair in front of the desk. He waited patiently as Renaud scratched a couple of comments onto the essay in red ink before replacing it in the pile.

Taking off his glasses, he addressed him. "Before we begin our conversation, I would be remiss in my manners if I didn't offer you any refreshments. Would you like any?"

Archer shook his head. "No thank you, Grandmaster. I'm quite eager to begin."

"Hmm. I can see that. Very well, seeing as the pleasantries have been taken care of, let us get to the heart of the matter. I believe that you would appreciate a straight-forward answer, but as a Grandmaster of the guild, certain guidelines must be followed for me to impart the information you seek.

So, without further ado, I must ask for an Oath of Secrecy from you Mr. Beaufort. Unless you agree to keep the contents of our conversation in the strictest of confidence, I sadly cannot tell you anything. I would not ask this of you if it wasn't necessary."

Archer interest was piqued. What was so damn secretive that he required an actual Oath just to reveal why self-identity was so important? Nevertheless, he needed the answer, so he agreed.

Taking out his wand slowly, he held it straight up and spoke clearly. "I, Archer Beaufort, do hereby swear on my magic, to keep the contents of this conversation with Grandmaster Bertrand Renaud a secret until such time he releases me from my oath."

"So mote it be." Renaud replied.

The magic flared for a second before settling around them and Archer felt the weight of the Oath settle on his magic.

"With that out of the way, I can now begin to tell you why self-identity is so important in Transfiguration. What I am about to tell you is closely kept secret of both the older Ancient families who specialize in Transfiguration, and the Transfiguration Masters guild.

In modern times, Transfiguration is considered a field of magic unto itself. Many dedicate their lives to pushing its boundaries and discovering its limits, only to stumble upon a much larger path before them that has been walked by very few throughout history.

You see, Transfiguration is not truly an individual field of magic. It is in fact, a subfield of a much larger and obscure branch of magic called Reality Distortion magic. When it comes to magic, it is widely acknowledged that there are Dark and Light fields. Reality Distortion falls under a very select category that is considered truly neutral, Grey magic.

Along with Ritual and Arcane magic, they form the three pillars of Grey magic. Those three fields are the only ones in which the intention of the caster provides the distinction between Light and Dark. They are all powerful beyond compare.

Ritual magic is the pinnacle of all sacrificial magic, as it shows us that magic has no real limit. One can gain whatever they desire with the requisite sacrifice. Arcane magic calls upon the power of beings beyond our dimension. It is commonly used in various family and profession-based rituals.

For example, Healer Apprentices who graduate to become fully qualified Healers must all take the Hippocratic Oath. Part of the ceremony before taking the Oath involves invoking the presence of Apollo, the Greek god of Healing. There are minor differences in which deity is invoked around the world, but the concept remains the same. A deity of healing witnesses the Oaths of the new Healers and blesses them.

Of course, the deities themselves don't come to our plane, as the Veil prevents them from doing so. They send down a spark of their presence whenever they are formally invoked, and the process usually involves a sacrificial ritual. The knowledge of Invocation rituals is highly classified, and it is an automatic death penalty for anyone who leaks the knowledge of such rituals.

Although, that rule hasn't needed to be enforced for centuries because the family magics protect and prevent the dissemination of family rituals, and in the professions, less than a handful of anonymous individuals hold the knowledge."

Archer's expression went from interested to horrified in an instant. Being beyond their dimension? Deities and Gods? Did this mean that demonic summoners other than Voldemort existed in the world? How had it not all gone to hell already?

Renaud must have noticed his expression because he instantly tried to comfort him. "Don't worry, Mr. Beaufort. Our realm was sealed thousands of years ago by the sacrifice of the ancient mages. They formed a veil betwixt the dimensions that spanned across time and space, effectively sealing off our plane of reality. It was the single largest instance of Reality Distortion magic in all of history.

It protects us to this day, ensuring that the myriad terrifying and evil beings across the dimensions cannot interfere on Earth directly. They can only influence those who reside here. The primary method they do so is through the Dark Arts.

When one steeps themselves in the practice of the Dark Arts, they forever mark their soul with the taint of that cursed magic. It will always whisper to them, tempting them to use it with increasing frequency. This effect of Dark magic is known as the haze. It clouds the mind and senses, constantly attempting to trap the magical and permanently corrupt their soul.

I can tell you that while they are frowned upon, there are people that teach others to use it responsibly. Durmstrang, for instance, has an entire 4-year course on learning the Dark Arts properly and being able to fight against the haze. They also instruct their students on how to identify the signs of a Dark witch or wizard.

Honestly speaking, I have also used the Dark Arts in the past. You will find that many who participated in the Wizarding World War against the Dark Lord Grindelwald had to resort to the Dark Arts to fight against him and his acolytes. Those were dark times that called for the use of even darker magic."

Archer was silent as he let Renaud lapse into silent contemplation. Due to how long-lived members of the magical community were, they still felt the effects of the war against Grindelwald. Even in his old reality, many veterans of the war had been badly affected by their actions and hadn't been able to cope. PTSD wasn't exclusive to non-magicals.

Renaud cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Mr. Beaufort. That is not the conversation we were supposed to be having. So, I will endeavor to get back to the main point."

Archer politely interrupted. "There is no need to apologize, Grandmaster."

Renaud waved away his comment. "Let us focus on answering your question. The reason a clear sense of self is so important in Transfiguration, is because every time you cast a spell, you are channeling the raw magic in your surroundings.

Any form of Reality-Distortion takes a toll on the mind. The more precision that is required, the harder it will be for you to keep your intent and will strong against the backlash of reality. We may just be scratching the surface of its capabilities, but one thing is clear to all who study the intricacies of magic. Magic is sentient.

The raw magic in our surroundings connects us in ways that we can scarcely comprehend. I'm sure that the specific problem you must be having is with inanimate to animate, as well as animate to animate Transfiguration, correct?"

Archer nodded. "That is correct, Grandmaster."

Renaud hummed. "I thought so. One of the principle aspects of magic that everyone must understand, is that all magic is sacrificial magic. With every spell you cast, you are paying a requisite price, be it time, energy, willpower, focus or for the Dark Arts, blood, life, limb, or your very soul. Keeping this in mind, let me put the true nature of Transfiguration in perspective.

Whenever you cast a Transfiguration-based spell, you are utilizing a primal energy of our universe to fundamentally change the basic nature of an object. In the case of inanimate to animate, you are attempting to create an artificial life form with sentience from something insentient. To do this, you combine the power of magic with your intent to imbue lifelike aspects onto something.

Reality, or the laws of our universe, will relentlessly fight against your transformation. It does this because it goes against the natural order. In essence, you are using the power of magic to fight against the laws of reality every time you transfigure anything. It is why your self-identity and will must be stalwart against this bombardment, because if you are overwhelmed, the resulting backlash will snuff out your very existence.

Therefore, Transfiguration is some of the most dangerous magic you will learn during your education. It is also why anyone who wants to teach Transfiguration at a magical school must be a certified Master of the guild.

The other subjects, while all equally important, do not have such stringent requirements. While we at Beauxbatons only accept the very best, other smaller schools cannot afford such a luxury."

Archer was quiet as he reflected on what Renaud said. His perspective of the world had been turned on its head with talk of otherworldly beings and deities. It was a bit much to take at face value. He decided at that moment to ignore anything to do with the Arcane for now and focus solely on Transfiguration.

"That was a very enlightening answer, Grandmaster Renaud. I must ask though, have there been any cases where a person has suffered the backlash while attempting Transfiguration?"

Renaud smiled grimly. "Of course, Mr. Beaufort. Otherwise, we would not have been able to study and realize the consequences of attempting to manipulate reality. Ever since that study, very few have ever desired to dabble in the higher levels of Transfiguration, which is why there are so few Masters of the arte around the world.

The story goes, that a Grandmaster back in the late 1700's realized he was dying. His condition is treatable in modern times, but back then, the cure had yet to be invented. He decided that he would go off with a bang, so to speak.

He told his colleagues about what he was going to do, and they all tried to stop him. Nevertheless, he was adamant to go through with his plan. In his famous words, "no matter if I succeed or fail, we will learn more about Reality-Distortion. We will touch upon the divine".

He attempted something never heard of before. He tried to create a new magical creature, purely through Transfiguration. It was an insane idea, and not something anyone had ever dared to attempt.

The fateful event took place in what is now called Stonehenge. The Grandmaster's idea was to channel the inherent power of the ley lines beneath the structure to power his experiment. The day came when he started his experiment. Initially, things were going fine, as he slowly started forming the features of the animal he was trying to create.

He was nearly finished when everything went horribly wrong. The laws of the universe crashed down upon him in wrathful fury, threatening to destroy him. He fought valiantly; channeling far more magic than was ever thought possible for a human being.

Alas, it wasn't anywhere near enough. A bright flash of light surrounded him and then, nothing. The animal he was trying to create turned back into a rock and the Grandmaster fell forward, unconscious.

They healed him to the best of their abilities, only to realize that he was not there anymore. His body showed all the signs of living. Heartbeat, breath, blood pulsing through the arteries. However, he wasn't alive, not anymore. His very soul, along with his connection to magic was destroyed.

In the end, he was left nothing but a mere shell. A few Legilimens attempted to check if his mind could be salvaged, only to find a pure white space with no sign that a person had even existed within at one point.

His entire being, everything that made him who he was, disappeared in the blink of an eye. The guild would go on to refer to that incident as The Wrath of Reality. It is a cautionary tale that anyone who apprentices under a Master must learn and understand.

The members of the guild chose to take care of him until his body expired and constructed a tomb in his honor at our Headquarters. Every Transfiguration Master or Mistress along with their apprentices visit it at least twice in their careers to pay their respects to the Grandmaster for his sacrifice.

I have no doubt that once you officially become Laura's apprentice, you too will get the opportunity to visit Headquarters and see the tomb for yourself."

Renaud finished and clapped his hands, summoning an elf.

"How can I help you, Professor?"

"Some tea for me, please. My usual would be nice. Mr. Beaufort, would you like anything?" Renaud ordered before asking him.

"I'll have whatever you're having, Grandmaster." Archer politely deferred to him.

"Alright, make that two servings of my usual tea, please."

The elf nodded before disappearing with a small crack.

The conversation lapsed into silence as he took a moment to think about what all he had learned. Reality-Distortion seemed to be an exceedingly powerful field of magic that he could see himself learning. With magic that potent, Voldemort would be a piece of cake to deal with.

Not to mention, it genuinely interested him a lot next to the possibilities of Arcane magic. He was nervous, for sure, about the fact that mythical figures from the various pantheons existed. This was something he had no experience in, even from his previous reality.

At the same time, a part of him was thrilled. He had turned into a bit of an adrenaline junky from his time in the Slayer squadrons. Before he was assigned his teammates, he operated solo. He acted as a one-man reconnaissance and assault team, taking on high risk missions deep in hostile territory.

He would work hard to fix his issues with Transfiguration and then graduate to Reality-Distortion. On the way, if he could, he'd find any available material on Arcane magic. Just because the information was tightly controlled, didn't mean that it wouldn't be available on the black market. The forbidden had an allure unlike anything else, and in his experience, you could find just about anything in Knockturn Alley so long as you were willing to pay for it.

Renaud cleared his throat, making him look up from his musings. In his hand, he held a cup and saucer. "Your tea, Mr. Beaufort."

"Thank you very much, Grandmaster." Archer said before accepting the tea and taking a small sip. It was truly delicious.

"Do you like it? It was the way my master preferred his tea, and one of the many things I did for him in my earlier years. After a while, I learned to enjoy the taste, and haven't changed the preparation method since."

Archer smiled. "It is truly delicious, Grandmaster. Thank you for allowing me to try it."

"No need to thank me. I can see our conversation has taken its toll on you. I am amazed that you didn't panic as much as I expected you to. Most would when confronted with the confirmed existence of the divine."

Archer imbibed the tea once more, searching for an answer. After a hearty sip, he carefully started speaking. "It isn't something I ever expected to be true, but I am genuinely quite astonished and if I'm being truthful, curious as to the inner workings of Arcane and Reality-Distortion magics."

Renaud expression turned somber. "I understand where you are coming from, Mr. Beaufort. I too was once a talented and ambitious young man who dreamed of wielding the power of Reality-Distortion. Do not be swayed by it.

Focus hard on mastering Transfiguration and completing your apprenticeship with Laura. Only after you too are a Master, should you even attempt to start walking down that path. Any time before that will leave you utterly ruined."

Archer gulped a little. Renaud was extremely serious when he was giving his warning. Nodding, he said "I promise I will not attempt to learn about Reality-Distortion until I am a fully qualified master of the guild. You have my word, Grandmaster Renaud."

"Good. I trust that an intelligent young man like yourself will realize that I ask this of you for your own good. Do not sabotage your future for temporary power. Work hard under Laura, and I will look forward to the day I can call you a colleague."

By this time, both were finished with their tea, so Archer stood up. Giving Renaud a bow, he thanked him for his time, and left for his dorm room. He hadn't expected their conversation to be this emotionally exhausting, especially after he went in thinking that his problem was inconsequential.

'Wait a minute. Morgana should have existed in this world as well. Was she a Dark Witch? Surely, she would have avoided the worst Dark Arts, as they would corrupt her soul completely.'

He needed to find out if she had a grimoire like the one in his old reality. She would be invaluable help in planning and learning. Her knowledge of rituals would probably still be there, if anything, it might be better seeing as rituals are a traditional Grey and not as Dark magic.

Despite what the British Ministry may parrot, all pureblood children would be undergoing family rituals before and during their Hogwarts years. Thank Merlin he would be going in with a huge advantage with Morgana's rituals. Otherwise, the chance of those bastards beating him became a possibility.

'Alright, Renaud says that Laura will offer me an apprenticeship by the end of the year. I'll accept of course, but what does that mean for my inheritance. She knows I'm the child of at least one magical family. Does she get access to my inheritance if she's my master? Damn, I'll have to do more research before accepting.'

His thoughts swirled as he reached his dorm and collapsed onto his bed, not bothering to change his clothes.

'Who knew that this reality would be so complicated?' was his last thought before he journeyed to the realm of Morpheus.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hello Everyone,

I sincerely apologize for not updating for almost a month. My company is currently on track to go live on a huge project in the next two weeks. We were not ready, and all my IT people can tell you what happened next. Crunch time.

To make up for being so badly late on our delivery, my team and I have been putting in 100+ hour weeks for the last month, with at least a month more projected. Everyday I start working at 9 and go until 1 or sometimes 3AM. I used the weekends to write a little bit at a time, because after slogging so hard, my mind was burnt out and I just couldn't think too well about the story.

This week so far hasn't been too bad, as we were able to deliver an MVP that works for the most part ahead of schedule. Testing is not my department, so while waiting for the QA team to do their thing, I was able to write a bit more and edit and review the culmination of a month of progress.

I understand that this chapter is quite a long filler. I teased some action, and am genuinely sorry I wasn't able to deliver on that. Writing action scenes without any interest would hurt this story, and I don't want them to be meaningless. I made this move in part due to me wanting to get rid of world building for at least the next 10 chapters. You, along with our main character, are now clearly aware of the extremely large scope of the universe we find ourselves in. This huge sandbox gives a lot of room for me to be creative and take some artistic liberties with how the story goes.

I give you my solemn promise that the next chapter will purely be driving the plot forward as I will skip multiple years and get directly to the Tri-Wizard Tournament, or more specifically, the 1994 Quidditch World Cup. It will take a while for me to write it, with how busy I will be in the coming weeks, so I request your patience.

See you all in the next chapter.

Sincerely,

AltruousAlliterator


	10. A Hidden Heritage

**Author's Note:**

Hi Everyone, it's been a while since my last update. Long story short, the pandemic continues to make purchasing PC parts for reasonable prices a huge PITA. The GPU I bought second hand started developing issues barely 2 days in, so I sent it back to the seller and am in the process of getting a refund through . While doing that I've been watching a stock tracker on Twitch like a caffeinated lemming jumping to try and secure a GPU while also tracking second hand listings.

Other than that, I literally can't do anything other than stay at home, so Christmas and New Year's is going to be absolute shit as well. It's starting to drag on, as all the plans me and my friends made went down the toilet with Newsom's curfew and mandatory lockdown bullshit. Not being able to see my friends and celebrate the end of the year really hurts, and I'm not exactly the most social person among my circle.

On a more personal note, I've turned to writing as a way to escape the mundanity of being trapped in my apartment with nothing to do other than work, eat, and sleep. If this is what the future looks like for the next few months, it's going to be quite bleak. Still, I'm doing my best to get three workouts a week in and eat healthy. Daily morning walks help, even if it's cold outside. Hopefully this mess will get sorted out by the end of Q1 next year.

As it stands, a lot of people are hurting badly and several of my friends have been laid off, and are struggling financially. I thank my lucky stars everyday for being able to get and hold a job during these troubled times, but I can feel the discontent and anger simmering around me. I pray that everything works out and we find a way through this as things are going to come to a head if these lockdowns are going to continue for the long run. I keep asking myself how did "15 Days to Flatten the Curve" turn into 9 goddamn months but I digress.

I felt really bad over the last two weeks for not having backed up my chapters and not posting anything other than an update. So, I completely rewrote two chapters based on my original outline. While not as long as they were when I first wrote them, I feel that I've managed to properly convey the varying perspectives that will inform you all of Archer's heritage and past. If anything, to me, they turned out better than the first go around.

I still have three more chapters apart from these that I hope to recover and post before Christmas. If that's not going to be possible, I'll put out another update to keep you guys in the loop. I hope you all enjoy. Stay safe and have fun!

Sincerely,

AltruousAlliterator

* * *

Archer sat on an uncomfortable bench in Gringotts London, glancing at his watch for the third time in the last 10 minutes. He couldn't deny that he was suffering from a little anxiety, as the big moment had finally arrived. Today was his 13th birthday, and he could finally undergo an Inheritance test.

His conversation with Renaud came back to him as reflected on the end of his second year at Beauxbatons. Like Renaud predicted, Laura had approached him at the end of the year and extended a formal offer of Apprenticeship. It was a good thing he had done his due diligence beforehand, so he had accepted on the spot.

She had been surprised at his instantaneous reply and attempted to dissuade him from rushing his decision. Only after he informed her of Renaud's guess and his research did she calm down and accept his word. They exchanged a formal Oath of Apprenticeship in her classroom the day before he left for home.

He hadn't deigned to inform anyone other than his roommates about his change of situation. They were extremely happy for him and congratulated him for his stunning accomplishment. After a small private celebration that involved several cases of butterbeer that Antonio somehow managed to sneak in, they said their goodbyes the following morning and parted ways at the portkey lounge.

His parents had been ecstatic to hear the news of his Apprenticeship with Laura, but Sofia had expressed her worry that they would effectively be losing rights to him in the magical world. He had comforted her by promising to owl Laura and invite her home so they could talk.

The conversation that immediately followed had been a tough one. He had brought up his problems with Transfiguration and how his unstable sense of self-identity was holding him back. Explaining the Inheritance ritual had Sofia shedding tears. She believed that he was dissatisfied with how they had raised him and was choosing to embrace his magical side.

It took a lot of time to explain how that wasn't the case. By the end of his explanation, his parents seemed much more understanding, but he could see that they were worried about something. He got his answer a few days later when they sat him down and spoke to him about their concerns.

"_Archer. You know we have loved you since the day we first met in that orphanage. You were such a lovable child, and that feeling has only grown stronger over the years. You have become our son in all but blood. If this Inheritance ritual you talked about can help you become a better wizard, then both your father and I wholeheartedly give our consent._

_However, we are worried about how this will change you. From what little we have read in our library about maturation for magicals, we know that the magic belonging to your biological family will play a huge role in your development. We only hope that once your questions are answered, you still return to us. I don't know what I would do if I lost you, my baby."_

Being confronted head on with his parents' insecurities had been jarring. After all these years, he had come to know them as his mother and father. Instinctively, he knew that he had a biological family with its own history, but these kind-hearted people had taken him into their home and raised him. They had accepted his magic and been supportive in all his endeavors.

Seeing them worried about him leaving for good broke his heart. He had never thought about the alienation they must have felt from the magical world. They knew practically nothing about it except what was in their library. This dissociation from their child and the world he lived in for almost 9 months out of the year had affected them badly.

It was then that he made them a solemn promise. To never abandon them no matter what. Once he explained the significance behind his magical Oath and the punishment he would face if he dared to break it, his mother had been apoplectic. She saw it as him being reckless with his life, but he calmed her down by explaining how common such oaths were in the magical world.

In a way, it had solved all their problems. His parents knew how much he loved and appreciated them, seeing as he promised on pain of death to not abandon them. They had bonded as a family and the subject had never been broached again.

He had planned on taking the Inheritance in Britain for the simple reason that he had a good feeling about inheriting at least one traditional English family title. Even if he might not be the Prince Le Fay, he had no doubt that an important family title would fall into his lap.

Too many coincidences in his background strongly hinted that to be the case. Combined with the fact that Morgana's grimoire was located here, it was a no-brainer to choose Gringotts London as the place he conducted the ritual.

He explained his plan and some of his reasoning in a roundabout way, and his parents had accepted it at face value. They decided to make a trip out of it, seeing as they could only hold a party during the coming weekend. Instead, traveling Britain and seeing the sights was an opportunity they couldn't miss.

Today marked their second to last day in Britain, as he had no idea how the ritual might affect him and his magic. So, he had given himself a day as a buffer, to make sure that he could fully recover before heading home to France.

His eye twitched minutely as he took another glance at his watch. It had only been two minutes since the last time, and he was slowly getting annoyed. After the debacle he had faced in Gringotts Paris, he had categorically forbidden his parents to accompany him. If something went wrong, he would rather they be safe.

Surreptitiously grabbing a fold of clothing, he scratched at the area right above his heart. Today had started off with a bang, as he had jumped out of bed screaming in pain. An intense heat had emanated from his chest that brought him to his knees in pain.

Jean and Sofia had rushed in to find him gripping his chest in agony. They had fretted over him for several seconds and debated calling an ambulance when the pain had subsided just as quickly as it came.

Standing up, he did his best to calm them down while thinking about what exactly that feeling had been and why it felt so familiar. As he was pacifying them, their eyes had gone wide, staring at his chest.

Their odd shift in behavior had confused him. Before he could ask what was wrong, his mother dragged him in front of a mirror and pointed at his left pectoral. Focusing on the mirror, he let out a gasp as he saw what they were looking at.

There laid the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, seemingly branded into his skin.

'That's why it was so damn familiar! I've gone through this process once during my trip into the Peverell vault. Wait. The Deathly Hallows must also exist in this reality too, right? If that's the case, then how did this appear here?'

Before he could get lost in his thoughts, he was shaken from his reverie by his mother's concerned look. He had spun up a tale at hurricane speed, making things vague enough to attribute his new tattoo to "secretive family magic at work". His past was one thing he wouldn't be trusting anyone with anytime soon.

Even though they accepted his reasonable excuse, they were still anxious about letting him go alone. It was only with a lot of convincing did he get them to agree. That was how he found himself on this Merlin-forsaken bench that was so damn uncomfortable.

Fucking goblins and their vindictive bullshit. For all their talk of being a warrior race, when push came to shove, they lost almost every fight they started. The few that they didn't outright lose were pyrrhic victories at best. Now they did their darndest to make sure every single transaction was as painfully bureaucratic as possible.

Though his status as Prince Le Fay, Ally of The Nation had helped him a lot, that still hadn't made goblins like him any more than usual. They showed him a modicum of respect because he was a warrior, but he would always be just another human wand waver to them. If it came to it, they would abandon him in a heartbeat to protect their own interests, honor be damned.

That was why he had investigated other magical banks to protect his assets. The gnomes in Switzerland were a popular alternative, along with the slightly less popular Dwarves in Eastern Europe. They both offered similar services and each race had their own idiosyncrasies and unique magic, much like the goblins of Gringotts.

The biggest draw, however, was their attitude. The gnomes were known to be masters at hospitality, making sure all their clients were treated with utmost respect and given swift service. The dwarves, though a little less refined in their manner, were a straight-forward and jovial race that took their honor and integrity very seriously.

Both species had never engaged in open conflict with humans due to their innately friendly nature, and despite the unscrupulous means the goblins used to try and wipe out their competition, humans protected the gnomes and dwarves. Hence, the goblins were always bitter when their clients banked with their competitors.

He was not going to make the same mistake he made in his previous reality. All it had taken were sweet whispers and a few hundred sacks of Galleons to destroy the Nation. This had thoroughly ravaged their logistical support network and been a massive strike against the Resistance.

Diversification was the word of the day. He could not afford to be caught on the back foot by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, who would no doubt try to court the goblins for their war effort. If he split his assets up and spread his finances around, the failure of any one bank would not mean the crippling of his finances.

Unfortunately, due to the many treaties that were formed to somewhat appease the goblins and end their rebellions, the ICW inadvertently gave them the exclusive power of utilizing blood rituals for their client business. That meant that anyone who wanted to take an Inheritance test was restricted only to Gringotts. Despite having the means and capabilities to do so, the gnomes and dwarves were forbidden from using blood-magic to conduct their dealings.

His best bet was to see which vaults he could open and take the ones with less liquid assets and move them to the dwarven bank Khazarak, and the gnomish Universal Magical Bank (UMB) respectively. The goblins would begrudge him for closing the accounts, but so long as they weren't major ones, their annoyance would be manageable. It's not like he was dependent on them for anything.

Taking a deep breath, he shifted around, trying to find a mildly comfortable position. It looked like he would be waiting for a while. He would make his displeasure known later, once it was confirmed that he could restart any accounts currently in stasis.

Shutting his eyes, he chose to go through his Occlumency exercises, but kept his senses alert for when they decided to get off their high horse and let him conduct his business. He sank into the confines of his mind, identifying the amalgam of emotions he was experiencing and divorcing himself from them.

A cold and emotionless façade would be a critical factor in the negotiations for the account closure process. They would try to steal as much as they could from him, and it was his task to give up as little as possible. It would be a tough negotiation, and he couldn't let his anger at the blatant robbery they would attempt to commit cloud his judgement.

It was some time before he finally heard his name called. Coming out of his meditative state, he gave a quick glance to his watch and noticed it had been two goddamn hours. This was undoubtedly a power play on their part.

Most likely this was them letting him know who controlled the wealth that he may or may not be entitled to. It was pointless as far as he was concerned because they would find themselves in a world of hurt if they tried anything smart. The Black Lich always lurked underneath the surface of his mind, and he was more than willing to let him out to play if the occasion called for it.

Standing up and lightly stretching out his arms and legs, he made his way towards the surly goblin that was looking at him in disgust. What exactly had he done to deserve such contempt was beyond him.

"Archer Beaufort?"

"Correct." He replied succinctly.

The goblin snorted as he narrowed his eyes. "Follow me, wizard."

Archer complied and accompanied the goblin quietly down the cavernous hallways towards their destination.

They stopped in front of a slightly fading golden door. The goblin knocked once and politely spoke. "Archer Beaufort to see you, Master Bloodfang."

A rumbling voice came from behind the closed door "Enter." The goblin opened the door and signaled Archer to go inside. Walking inside he saw an office that was filled with weaponry and armor. Sitting behind an ornate mahogany desk was an elderly goblin who was looking at him with narrowed eyes.

"You may leave Swiftfoot." The younger goblin bowed as he closed the door and left.

Archer kept his cool as they both observed each other. He made sure to keep his face neutral, as he matched the elderly goblin's intensity. The silence drew out as Archer stayed standing as neither made to break the deadlock.

After what felt like an eternity, the goblin spoke. "So, you are the human boy who wants to see if he's lucky."

Archer's eyebrow raised at his statement. "Forgive me, Master Bloodfang, I'm unsure what you mean."

The goblin stood up and looked a little threatening as he bared his sharp teeth. "We get enough and more foolish humans like you. Greedy thieves who claim to be related to Merlin or some other famous human so they can steal their wealth. We have dealt with many such foolish imposters. I don't think you're any different, Archer Beaufort."

It was an insulting accusation, but Archer showed no outward signs of indignation. "Master Bloodfang, I am not here because I seek wealth. I am here to see if I can find out anything about my biological parents. Respectfully, my adoptive parents may not have magic, but they are still considered one of the richest in the world. I'm not exactly desperate to make a quick Galleon."

Bloodfang looked at him with a piercing gaze, as if trying to determine the veracity of his stated intentions. "Fine. Sit down, Mr. Beaufort. We will see if there is anything to find, though I am doubtful."

Sitting down, Archer tossed a small purse onto the desk. "Payment for the ritual. 500 Galleons, as required."

Seemingly satisfied, the goblin snatched the purse and shoved it into a drawer before retrieving a piece of parchment and a small knife. Placing the parchment on the table, he handed Archer the knife. "Slice your right index finger and drip 7 drops of blood onto the parchment. Whichever family titles you inherit, if any, will be listed."

Taking the knife from Bloodfang, he quickly made a cut on his finger as he held it above the parchment. The first drop of blood was big and splattered a little as it landed. The subsequent 6 were much smaller. The first thing he did after he was done was ask permission to draw his wand.

"May I draw my wand to clean up?" The goblin nodded and Archer flicked out his wand and cast a quick Healing charm on his finger before vanishing the small droplets of blood on the knife. He had had lessons on the importance of keeping his blood safe. Morgana had suggested a ritual to protect his blood, but he had ignored it until now. Seems like he should do it before something bad happened.

Almost immediately after the 7th drop, the parchment glowed an eerie blood-red before the droplets spread out and started to form words. Within 10 seconds the parchment stopped glowing, leaving several titles written on it.

Bloodfang was staring at it in wonder. It must have been the first time someone inherited the Heirship of a family. Taking the sheet, Bloodfang saw the names written on it and his eyebrows started climbing higher as he read on. Archer tamped down his curiosity and let him read the parchment first.

After some time passed, the goblin looked at him. "It seems that you are quite an interesting client, Mr. Beaufort." He handed Archer the paper. He started reading and his surprise grew as he went down the list. However, he made sure to keep his expression blank, as there was no need to give the goblin any advantage.

Bloodfang continued talking as Archer processed what he was seeing on the paper. "My heartiest congratulations. You are the Heir Primus to the Black, Peverell, Rosier, Romanov, and Grindelwald families. You are no doubt going to become a VIP client of Gringotts in the future."

He suffered a bit of a shock at seeing such prominent family names on the parchment. He expected maybe a minor family, but not ones as prestigious as Black or Rosier. The biggest surprise to him was the Grindelwald family. He was related to Gellert?

Bloodfang interrupted his thoughts. "You are currently able to take up the Heirship of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Rosier without any issue. The last remaining male of the main line in Britain died during the Blood War, and the account has been in stasis since.

The Ministry attempted to seize the assets by declaring the family extinct, but Magic had already determined that an Heir to the family existed, hence they lacked the ability to follow through with their planned theft.

It is a similar situation for the Peverell Heirship, except no one has ever been deemed worthy of claiming it since the family line ended with a daughter that eventually married into another family. The Lordship is a ceremonial title with only the legal benefits, seeing as the family's Wizengamot seat was given as dowry to the Potter family.

I am unsure of the Romanov Heirship, as that question can only be answered by the family's Account Manager in Gringotts Moscow. All I know is that the account has been in stasis for decades since the last main line Romanov's death. Though the family does have many living relatives, none of them are magical, hence they were unable to access the wealth stored in the Romanov vaults.

Regarding the Black Heirship, you must first contact the current Lord Black, Sirius Black III, and receive his acknowledgement before taking your place as the Heir Black. Only with his willing approval will the family magic officially accept you.

You can take up the Heirship of the Grindelwald family in Gringotts Berlin, but I would highly advise you against doing that right now, as it would be harmful to you should news of your status leak."

Archer wasn't stupid or greedy enough to immediately claim the Grindelwald family fortune. Merlin knows he would be hunted down by those who were wronged by Gellert decades ago. The scar he left on Europe has not been forgotten to this day. Outing himself as a descendant would put a large target on his back. He was curious about one thing, though.

"You don't have to worry about that, seeing as I don't intend on claiming the Grindelwald Heirship anytime soon. I was wondering if the Nation has a method to map a family tree. I want to understand how I came to inherit these titles."

Bloodfang snorted dismissively. "Mr. Beaufort, contrary to popular belief, the Nation does not care to keep track of wizard ancestry. The Inheritance Ritual simply uses the blood of a magical to determine the presence of any latent family magics within. You humans seem to stress upon lineage and ancestry quite a bit, so I'm sure the families will have their own methods of keeping track."

It made sense, seeing as he remembered the Black family tapestry, along with all the burn marks dotting the fabric. That would tell him how he came to inherit the Black Heirship and would shed light on his lineage. However, that tapestry was limited to only information on his Black ancestry, and not any others.

He would have to explore the vaults of each family and determine if they had some sort of tracker that could help him piece together who his parents were and his family history. This knowledge would be helpful in forming a solid sense of self-identity so he could make use of complex Transfiguration and possibly Reality-Distortion magic.

'Okay. My finances are split between multiple Gringotts institutions across the European continent. That makes things a little harder, but I'm sure I can make it work. Maybe move the Romanov account to Khazarak, and the Peverell account to UMB. Now let the fun begin.'

"I intend to take up both the Rosier and Peverell Heirships forthwith and will seek out Lord Black at a later date."

Bloodfang nodded and tapped his desk before growling out something in the goblin language. He had never made the effort to learn, seeing as it wouldn't have been useful. Ragnok was an alright friend, but that was mainly due to him being respectful to a fellow royal.

"Taking up the Rosier Heirship will be a simple affair, as I have called the family's Account Manager, who will bring the Heir ring for you to try on. The Peverell Heirship, on the other hand, is a little more complicated."

"How exactly is it more complicated? Be precise if you can." Archer incisively replied.

Bloodfang growled lowly. "We do not possess the ring. They were a very secretive family who didn't trust us with ensuring their family rings were passed on. The only way to possibly retrieve it would be to enter the Peverell vault, find the ring and gain the approval of the family magic."

Archer nodded. "Fine. If that is what it takes, then that is exactly what I'll do."

Bloodfang gave an eerie smile. "You think it's that simple, wizard? The Peverell family was one of the first 10 families to open a Gringotts vault. They were given the privilege of warding and implementing their own security measures.

Despite the Nation having the best Cursebreakers in the world, not a single one has ever been able to breach the wards of any of the First 10 vaults. You might just die a horrible death if you dare to take it lightly."

"I'm not too worried about it, seeing as I am the rightful Heir to the family. Whatever security measures they put in will not affect me." Archer confidently stated.

Their back and forth was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. "Bloodfang! You better not be wasting my time!"

"Come in Silverclaw. I have the newly discovered Heir to the Rosier account with me." Bloodfang bellowed.

The door burst open as a goblin holding a large leather book barged inside. "If you are lying to me Bloodfang, you will regret it for the rest of your numbered days." Silverclaw snarled as he observed him.

"You are the new Heir Rosier? Not exactly what I was expecting. What's your name, human?"

"Archer Beaufort. A pleasure to meet you, Account Manager Silverclaw." Archer replied in a respectful but neutral tone.

"A Frenchman. How interesting. It seems like the title was handed off to the French branch after the last English Rosier passed." He muttered as he took out a box from his pocket.

"This box contains the Rosier Heir ring. To take up the Heirship, you must first open the lock with your blood and then slip on the ring. The family magics will judge if you are worthy of the title and if they accept you, the ring will resize to fit your finger. Any questions?"

Archer shook his head.

"Good. Let's finish this quickly. Time is money after all, and all that gold has been sitting there for too long."

Taking the box from Silverclaw, he held the lock tightly and felt a light pinch as a needle exited from its body and absorbed some of his blood. After a couple of seconds, light clicks resounded throughout the silent room. The lock and latches snapped open and the box opened, revealing a splendid looking ring inside.

Nestled in between the folds of acromantula silk, laid a stunningly detailed and ancient looking ring. The band was pure platinum, and the face of the ring had the Rosier coat of arms with stunningly bright emeralds dotted across the engravings.

Retrieving it from its velvet confinement, he slipped it onto his left middle finger. Almost immediately, he felt an uncomfortable sensation as his soul was examined by the Rosier family magic. The magic around him roiled and twisted as it slowly coalesced into the figure of a fairy, the Rosier family totem. The newly formed fairy fluttered around as it inspected him closely.

After several seconds, it came close to him and gave him a light kiss on his forehead before dissipating into glittering shards of magic that vanished before landing on the ground. The ring started shrinking as it formed a snug fit onto his finger.

Silverclaw had a toothy grin on his face as he observed the proceedings. The Beaufort child had managed to gain the family totem's approval, which meant that he was now officially the Heir Rosier. Finally, after more than a decade of stagnation, the account would be unfrozen, and he could start making a profit again.

Archer heard Silverclaw moving towards him and saw the grin on his face.

"Congratulations, Heir Rosier. I request we continue this conversation in my office, as it pertains to confidential family matters."

Archer nodded and briefly turned around to address Bloodfang. "I want a certified copy of the results. What is the fee?"

"10 Galleons, Heir Rosier." Bloodfang replied.

Archer retrieved 20 Galleons from his purse and put them down in two piles. "For the certified copy, and your time."

Bloodfang smirked as he grabbed the two piles. "The paperwork will be sent to Silverclaw's office, Heir Rosier. You may leave."

Archer accompanied Silverclaw out the door and along a labyrinthine route to his office. They finally arrived at their destination and Silverclaw opened the door while beckoning him inside. They walked towards the desk and he waited to take a seat as was protocol.

"Have a seat, Heir Rosier. There is a decent amount of paperwork we will need to get through to reactivate the Rosier accounts. After the stunt the Ministry pulled, we made it much more difficult to attempt asset seizure, which means multiple forms and documents that require your signature, in triplicate."

Archer took a seat and got straight to the point. "I hope that we can finish this business quickly, as I intend to take up another Heirship after this one."

"May I ask which Heirship that is?" Silverclaw raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"That is irrelevant as of now. If the situation changes, I'll let you know." Archer firmly stated, indicating the end of that line of questioning.

Silverclaw huffed. "So be it, Heir Rosier. Here are all the documents that require your signature. We will need to go through each one and the final three will require you to utilize a blood quill to sign."

The words blood quill triggered an instinctive violent response within his mind, seeing as Umbitch had tortured him with one for an entire year. He had never handled another one since, but it looked like there was no choice in this situation. Swallowing his considerable rage, he spoke.

"That is fine with me. Let us get on with it, time is money after all."

Silverclaw smirked. "Well, well. You are full of surprises aren't you, Heir Rosier?"

Archer gave a small smile. "You can call me Archer, Account Manager Silverclaw. Heir Rosier is a bit of a mouthful. Before we begin, I need you to make an Oath that there are no hidden clauses in this pile of forms and documents that will affect my magic, status, health, etc. It is important to be careful when dealing with official documents, after all."

Silverclaw growled. "An Oath. You ask quite a bit for a puny human whelp. I have been the Rosier Account Manager for longer than you were alive, boy. For decades I have discharged my duties with honor and brought profit to the family and my clan. You dare to question me?!"

Archer coldly replied. "I only met you five minutes ago. Why in Merlin's name would you think I trust that you have my best interests at heart? Whatever measly riches lie in the Rosier vault are of no interest to me.

My other Heirships are all quite sizable, not to mention my adoptive family is one of the richest in the world. In fact, they are richer than several Ancient and Noble families. I have no need to unfreeze the Rosier account because I could live for the rest of my life without having to touch it.

Just because I took up the Heirship does not mean I am obligated to unfreeze the account. So, what will it be Silverclaw? The Oath? Or do I walk out of your office and be on my merry way. Remember who exactly you're talking to before you insult me."

Silverclaw was caught flat-footed by his aggressive response. No doubt the goblin had never experienced a client fight back like this. British magicals had no choice but to take whatever crap the goblins spewed, seeing as Gringotts had a banking monopoly in the country. He had no such limitations, so he didn't bother pulling punches. If Silverclaw tried to start something, he would match him blow for blow.

He put up a stubborn front for several seconds, increasing the tension in the room by magnitudes. In the end, he gave a sigh before holding up his hand. "I, Silverclaw Earthrender hereby swear on my life and honor, that the documents I am asking the Heir Rosier Archer Beaufort to sign, will not negatively affect his health, magic, status in any way. They will only unfreeze the Rosier accounts. This I swear."

"So mote it be." Archer completed as the magic around them flared before settling down, signifying the acceptance of the Oath.

It took them half an hour of constant signing and initialing before the veritable heap of paperwork was finished. He had decided to shut up and deal with the stinging pain of the blood quill and not complain. It would move things along faster and meant that he could enter the Peverell vault earlier.

After all the paperwork was finished, he had a quick talk with Silverclaw before leaving.

"What percentage of the profits are you currently receiving from the Rosier account?"

"1 percent. Seeing as it was a frozen account and there were barely any profits being generated, I was not allowed to take any more. When it was active in the 1970's I was receiving 3 percent." Silverclaw spoke cautiously.

Archer nodded and imperiously declared. "You have my permission to increase your commission to 5 percent and if you do a good job we can discuss raising it even further."

Silverclaw's eyes glinted with poorly hidden greed. "That is most generous of you, Heir Rosier. I have a feeling that relationship will be quite the profitable one."

Archer narrowed his eyes and lightly flared his magic. "I'm trusting you on this Silverclaw, seeing as you were willing to give me an Oath about the account reactivation paperwork, even if I forced your hand. I can be very generous to those who do right by me. However, if you betray my trust, know that you will suffer my displeasure."

Silence reigned in the room as human and goblin stared at each other unblinkingly. For several seconds, nothing happened, until Silverclaw finally nodded his head. It was at that moment that a knock on the door broke the silence. His escort to the Peverell vault had arrived.

Archer said nothing as he alighted from his chair and walked out of the office. Opening the door, he was greeted by a young goblin that he remembered clearly. Griphook the Usurper stood before him with a contemptuous look on his face.

"I am here to escort you to the Peverell vault. If you are done with your business, let us be on our way."

Archer chose to not acknowledge him and simply walk out of the room. This did not sit well with the goblin as he snarled at the dismissal. Nevertheless, he started guiding him to the cart station. They didn't bother saying a single word to each other as they made their way to their destination. There was no point.

Archer was fuming as he remembered the chaos and desperation this little shit had caused the Resistance with his selfishness. It was extremely tempting to want to kill him and potentially solve an issue that could crop up in the future, but he had to hold himself back. It would not do to antagonize the goblins while he still had need of their services.

They reached the cart and entered the closest free one. Griphook manipulated a few levers and the cart jerked into action, sending them hurtling down the rickety tracks leading to the subterranean levels.

It was a ride he distinctly remembered from his first trip to the Peverell vault. The pathway the cart took seemed to be the same, but he couldn't help but feel a little anxious at the thought of the security measures.

He could only hope they were the same, as he didn't know what would happen if things didn't work out. Hell, the background of the Peverell family might be completely different in this reality.

'Well I guess I'll find out soon enough.' He thought as the cart made the final sharp turn into the straight that led into the cavern that housed the First 10 vaults.

After slowly traveling past a few vaults, each with different crests and markings, they stopped in between the fifth and fourth vaults. Griphook made his way off the cart and walked towards a torch that was mounted on the wall.

He gave the end of the blackened end of the torch a sharp swipe, causing a small spark to ignite it. A warm orange flame lit up their surroundings. Archer followed him off the cart.

"We will make our way to Vault number 4, the Peverell vault on foot." He gruffly spoke before starting the journey there without any further clarification.

Archer just quietly followed him, not trusting himself to speak up. If the security measures were the same as last time, the Draconis Mortem, the Death Dragons would be there guarding the front of the vault. A single, powerful, wandless Banishing charm could finish the job well enough.

The only problem was that the goblins would do their best to make things difficult for him and he didn't trust that their interrogation methods would inflict a lot of harm against him. This would be especially true if they thought he had killed a goblin of Gringotts. Say what you will about the greedy buggers, but they stuck up for their own.

As they neared the vault, he felt a feeling of dread in the air. It looked like he was correct in his assumption, as he felt the distinct presence of the Death Dragons increase with every step they took.

Out of the blue, Griphook stopped. "This is as far as I go, wizard. You must now venture forth and confront the security measures of the family. Should you pass through, by some fluke, finish your business in a timely manner and come out. I don't have all day to waste."

For the first time since they met, Archer spoke. "I understand. I will try to finish quickly."

Griphook gave a dismissive snort in reply.

Archer cleared his mind and started making his way forward. Upon arriving at the vault, he saw the Death Dragons up close. They looked like a cross between a Peruvian Vipertooth and a Thestral. Small, with leathery skin and wings. Their eyes were the most disturbing feature, as instead of pale white eyes with no pupils as was usual among Thestrals, the dragons' eyes glowed with an eerie pale blue fire.

Archer stilled for a moment, before regaining his confidence as he walked towards the vault entrance. The dragons looked really intimidating and for the briefest moment, he thought he was going to be burned to ashes. Stopping just in front of the dragons, who started sniffing the air as he came to a halt, he spoke loudly and clearly.

"My name is Archer Beaufort, Heir Presumptive of House Peverell. I demand entrance to the family vault so I may access my rightful heritage." The dragons stilled for a moment as their pale white eyes zeroed in on him. A couple of long sniffs and short huffs of white fire later, they glanced at each other before they laid back down and didn't mind him anymore.

Giving them a quick bow, he made his way past them and toward the vault. There was an indentation in the shape of a hand on the vault door, so Archer did what he had done last time. He put his hand on the indentation.

He felt five sharp pin pricks as he whipped his hand away from the door, cursing under his breath. Even after experiencing it once, it still hurt more than he thought it should. Five small, blood coated needles were present in each finger of the indentation.

Seconds passed as nothing happened. Suddenly, the handprint flashed as the needles withdrew and the vault door started creaking open. He could see inside the vault and the sight surprised him. A vault belonging to a family as notorious and ancient as the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell should have had wealth greater than the Blacks.

All he saw were three chests on the back wall and a book on a pedestal in the center of the vault. The book was enclosed in a glass case that looked to have runes all over its surface. No doubt they were deadly to anyone who tried to take the grimoire by force.

He started making his way into the vault only to walk into a wall of jelly. He felt he was being pushed back but resisted as he pressed forward. As he finally made his way through, a portrait on the right side of the vault called out to him.

"Hello there, young man. May I know who you are?"

Archer gave a smile as he recognized the man from his old reality. "Hello, I am your descendant and designated Heir Primus to the family, Archer Beaufort. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Peverell."

The man in the portrait smiled. "Well met, Archer Beaufort. My name is Ignotus Peverell. I assume you are here to secure the Heir ring?"

"You are indeed correct in your assumption, Mr. Peverell. I was informed by the goblins that the only way to take my place as the Heir Peverell was to open this vault and locate the ring" Archer answered.

Ignotus looked at him with twinkling eyes. A pensieve materialized in front of him, and he said "Place all of your memories inside this Pensieve and I shall view all of it. If I judge you to be of sound character, you shall be able to take the grimoire's test. If you hold anything back, I will know, and you will be blocked from ever entering this vault again by the family magic."

Without any hesitation, Archer drew his wand and started summoning his memories to the forefront of his mind. It took a solid 10 minutes for him to get practically two lifetimes worth of memories out of his head.

The end of his wand held what could only be described as a unicorn's tail with how densely the wispy strands were packed together. Depositing them in the pensieve, he waited patiently, knowing this would take a while. The last time he went through this process, it took 10 minutes for roughly 17 years of memories.

Now, he had nearly 27 years' worth from his old reality, plus another 13 in this reality. It would take a decent amount of time for Ignotus to process all of it and sort them out. He started going through his Occlumency exercises as he awaited the final verdict. He was confident of gaining the recognition of both Ignotus and the family magics.

Twenty minutes later, he came out of his trance gazing upon him in wonder. "My, my, the legend was true after all. Proceed to the grimoire's test with my blessing Archer Beaufort, or should I say, Harrison James Potter."

Archer replied. "I am Harry and Harry is me. In this reality however, I prefer Archer. As you no doubt witnessed, my previous life was quite traumatizing and hard for me to accept after crossing over. I have fully embraced my identity as Archer Beaufort, regardless of my past."

Ignotus smiled as the pensieve disappeared. "You have faced far more in your youth than I could have imagined. Despite all odds, you grew to become a powerful yet humble man who sacrificed himself to save the rest of humanity. That is something to be proud of. Go forth, son of the Peverell family. Claim that which is rightfully yours."

As he finished speaking, the glass case covering the black book on the pedestal in the middle of the vault melted away. Giving Ignotus a polite nod and thank you, he made his way to the pedestal where the grimoire rested.

The moment his hand made contact, he found himself in a pure white room. Turning around, he saw the figure of the woman he sorely missed. She had trained him, guided him, and even sacrificed herself to save him. Despite all his efforts, tears pooled in his eyes as he gazed upon her features once again.

Morgana Le Fay stood in front of him in all her resplendent beauty, looking at him with a gentle smile on her face. "Hello Harrison, it is wonderful to finally meet you. I see you trained with my counterpart in your reality. I can feel the love and respect you held for her, and I hope to one day earn that same privilege."

Archer swiped at his eyes. "Hello Morgana. Do you mind if I call you Morgana?"

"Of course, Harrison. Do you prefer Harrison? Or your new name, Archer?" she inquired.

Archer smiled. "I prefer Archer, as I have accepted my past and shed my previous identity as Harrison James Potter."

She gave a graceful nod. "Then I will refer to you as Archer henceforth. I'm sure you have many questions. However, I ask that you save them for later, seeing as we are still inside Gringotts. Our conversation is best left for when you are in a safe place."

Archer nodded. "It was great to see you again, Morgana."

Morgana walked forward and gave him a light hug. "It was nice to meet you as well, Archer. Before you leave, we must complete the rite."

Stepping back, she started chanting. "On my magic and name as Morgana Le Fay, Queen of Camelot, Empress of Avalon, and Protector of the Realm, I bestow upon you, Archer Beaufort, the title of Prince Le Fay."

Her deep purple irises blazed with power as the room shuddered around them. "Do you, Archer Beaufort, swear on your magic and life to protect the realm and all magicals that dwell within it?"

Instinctively, Archer went down on one knee before confidently stating "I do, Your Majesty."

Morgana continued. "Do you swear on your magic and life, to uphold the traditions and laws of the Exalted and Royal House Le Fay till the day your soul makes its journey to the Great Beyond?"

Once again, Archer replied in the positive. "I do, Your Majesty."

"Do you swear on your magic and life, to uphold the sanctity of the Veil and fight against the evils that lurk in the Chaos should they ever infiltrate our world?"

This one jolted him out of his trance. 'The Veil? She wants me to guard our dimension from the demons?'

Nonetheless, he responded in the positive to continue the ritual. "I do, Your Majesty."

"So you have sworn, so mote it be. May Mother Magic guide you to greatness." A bright corona of purple magic surrounded them as she chanted in Latin.

"Quaerere statera in omnibus (Seek balance in all things)."

As she finished speaking, the ring of magic briefly flared before forming a funnel that led directly to him. Archer felt his body temperature soar as he grunted in pain. He dropped to all fours as he absorbed the Le Fay family magic.

He could feel its presence, bombarding his soul as it thrashed around. He steadfastly kept his mouth shut as he bore the pain. Even Voldemort's Cruciatus hurt less than this feeling, but he had learned to manage the pain admirably, not wanting to give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing his screams.

After what seemed like an eternity of torture, the pain slowly subsided. As he recovered from the ordeal, he heard an imperious hoot. Rubbing the tears out of his eyes, he saw an owl made of magic in front of him. It's large eyes pierced into his soul as it judged his worth.

Despite the pain he had yet to recover from, he met the owl's gaze and didn't break eye contact. The owl gave a soft hoot before flying onto his shoulder and nuzzling him. A tired smile adorned his face as he reveled in the feeling of warmth and comfort its actions brought him.

Closing his eyes, he felt himself surrounded by the Le Fay family magic. It was no longer violent and tempestuous, now blanketing him in a way that gave a sense of belonging. As he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of Morgana's outstretched hand.

Taking it, he felt himself pulled up and into her arms. "Thank you so much for trusting me, Archer. I look forward to teaching you all that I know. After all, you were deemed worthy of my knowledge by my counterpart. I'd like to think I'm a stellar judge of character regardless of the reality I find myself in." She finished with a mischievous wink.

Archer was stunned at the abrupt shift in character. His Morgana had been a warm and caring yet severe mentor that expected nothing but excellence. She was a harsh taskmaster that did not care much for humor or levity regardless of the situation.

This reality's Morgana seemed much more open and affectionate. There was also an underlying slyness that made him question whether he could treat her like the Morgana he had trained under. For all he knew, their backgrounds could vastly differ, molding them into two different people irrespective of their shared looks.

As he was pondering about Morgana, he felt a slight tingle on his left hand. Looking down, he saw a ring manifest onto his pointer finger. The ring in question was formed from mithril and had a black engraving of an owl with purple diamonds for eyes and its wings extended, bridging two lines on either side forming the letter M. He sighed in admiration as he gazed upon the personal seal of Morgana Le Fay once more.

As Queen of Camelot, her family had been invested by Arthur with the title of Exalted and Royal, indicating their status as members of the kingdom's Royal family. As Morgana was the most prominent member of the new House Le Fay, she was given the privilege of designing the ring that would be passed down to her Heir.

The family's magical totem took the shape of black owl with purple eyes. Hence, Morgana used it as part of the new sigil. The ring was crafted by the Nation's most skilled blacksmiths, engravers, and jewelers. It was presented to the royal family as tribute for their allowance of the formation of Gringotts bank and the gift of land to the Nation.

They used the rarest magical metal in the world, mithril, for the base. Then the engravers masterfully engraved the sigil onto the face of the ring. After they were finished, the jewelers painstakingly sourced the purest purple diamonds they could find and set them into the eyes of the owl engraving. Even if the ring weren't blessed by the Le Fay family magic, it would still be considered a priceless masterwork.

Morgana lightly cleared her throat. "I know the ring is beautiful, but I must bring your attention to a few things. Firstly, to complete this ritual, you must undergo the Le Fay family's rite of passage, which involves the blood of the current Head of House. A sealed vial of my own blood has been kept in stasis in one of the trunks present in the vault. Take all of them with you, as they contain items you will find helpful in your quest.

The ring will not display my personal seal unless you want it to do so. It will take the form of the Peverell family ring so as to not expose your status to those you do not want finding out."

Archer nodded. "I will, Morgana. Thank you for giving me the title once more."

Morgana smiled in response and shimmered out of existence.

Before he knew it, he found himself back in the vault. Ignotus was beaming at him. No doubt he had noticed the change in his magic from the Heirship ritual. He straightened up before bowing low at the waist with his hand on his heart. "It is an honor to greet you, Prince Le Fay. May the Mother guide you in your quest for balance."

Archer nodded and asked. "What exactly is in these trunks? I never really bothered with finding out in my last life, as my focus lay elsewhere with the war effort."

"I wouldn't know if the contents would be the same in both realities, but these trunks contain what was left of the family fortune after giving the Potter family a substantial dowry, along with the library, and several magical ingredients. Our family specialized in crafting magical artifacts, so there are some priceless ingredients in there."

"Magical artifacts? Not necromantic magic?" Archer was surprised by the change.

Ignotus scowled. "While that might have been the case in your old world, nobody in their right mind dabbles in the Black Arts in this one, young Prince. Such magic that violates the sanctity of life and the natural order is strictly forbidden. Any attempts to use such magic will cause the person using it to lose all access to their family magic."

Archer hummed. "I see. I apologize if I insulted you."

"There was no insult intended, your Highness. There is nothing for you to apologize for" Ignotus shook his head as he replied.

With a clear plan in mind, Archer went over to the trunks and shrunk them one by one, storing them in his pocket. Before he shrunk the last one, he abruptly turned to Ignotus' portrait. "Say Ignotus, would you be willing to accompany me? I daresay staying asleep in this vault would be quite boring."

Ignotus grinned. "That sounds lovely, Your Highness. I accept your kind offer. This portrait can be magically shrunken down, and I'll go to sleep while you store me in the trunk. Once you find a place for me, you can wake me up with a tap of your wand."

Archer nodded and went over to the portrait. A quick Shrinking charm brought it down to the size of a playing card. Storing it carefully within the trunk, Archer proceeded to shrink the trunk and store it with the others in his pocket.

Walking out of the vault, Archer nodded to the dragons and made his way back to Griphook. The goblin had a slightly wide-eyed expression on his face. He probably thought the dragons would feast upon his corpse. Not to mention, judging from the states of the vaults they passed on the way, he was most likely the first in a very long time to successfully open one of them.

Seeing his amused smirk, Griphook quickly corrected his expression. "To think a human brat like you was worthy to open the Peverell vault. Did you find what you were looking for?"

Archer gave a knowing smile that he knew would piss the goblin off. "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't." It was fun being the one with several hidden cards.

"Arrogant whelp. There was probably nothing in there worth mentioning. They were after all known to be a poor family, seeing as no goblin wanted to be their Account Manager."

It was a clever tactic on Griphook's part, but one he saw from a mile away. Insulting the family to try and wheedle information on the contents of the vaults from wizards who were proud of their family history. While he was indeed proud of his family and its infamy, he was not going to let the goblin goad him into spilling any pertinent information.

"You're absolutely right, Griphook. There were no Galleons in the vault whatsoever. In fact, I think it would be better to close the account, seeing as there's nothing left in the vault anyway." The wealth of the family was stored in the trunks and not directly in the vault as one would see in a modern family, so technically the claim wasn't an outright lie.

Griphook grunted. "If you wish to close the account, you will have to speak to his Highness Ragnok. He is the one in charge of the First 10 vaults."

Archer frowned. Dealing with Ragnok wasn't something he wanted to do right now. He could close the account another time then. He wasn't exactly in a hurry, and the goblins had no clue about the massive transfer he had conducted.

"I guess I'll wait for another time then, I have better things to do then bother with an old vault without any Galleons in it."

Griphook got onto the cart and grudgingly waited for him to board. They rocketed back up the tracks to the main lobby and after a few minutes filled with high speed twists and turns, they arrived.

Getting off the cart, he bid the goblin farewell and casually walked out of Gringotts with the wealth of the Peverell family in his pockets. He meandered down Diagon Alley with a smile on his face.

The Alley was full of life and nothing like the dreary hellscape he had walked into before his final duel with Voldemort. Children ran around while laughing merrily, street vendors advertised their wares, and he could see several Hogwarts age children shopping for their supplies.

On the far side of the Alley, in the direction Archer was walking, four girls were enjoying some ice cream at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Rose Potter, Bianca Black, and their best friends Susan Bones and Hermione Granger were chatting about what they learned during their trip to Flourish and Blotts.

"Can you believe we're going to be taught by Gilderoy Lockhart himself?! Oh Merlin I can just imagine those big strong arms of his guiding me through the wand movements of a spell. You can't tell from a distance, but his hair is so silky and shiny. I wonder what products he uses? Or maybe it's a spell he created himself?"

Bianca kept rattling on and on about Lockhart and his admittedly handsome features. Rose on the other hand, was feeling moody as she reflected on her first year at Hogwarts. She had been looking forward to attending for so many years, but now that sense of wonder and excitement had taken a backseat.

In the beginning of the year, she had a tiff with Malfoy during Flying class over a Remembrall belonging to her friend Neville. Malfoy had tossed it away, sending it hurtling towards the castle walls. She remembered focusing hard on it and instinctively maneuvering her broom to intercept it.

After she managed to catch it, her Head of House, Professor McGonagall, had taken her to meet the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain Oliver Wood. After a quick test, she was officially drafted onto the team as Seeker, becoming the youngest in a hundred years.

While her mother hadn't been very happy about it, her father had shouted it from the rooftops for everyone to hear. By the next day, every Auror in the department knew how she had inherited her father's talent for the game and that she was a natural, "just like her old man". He had gone so far as to purchase the best racing broom on the market, the Nimbus 2000, and sent it to her the very next day.

Draco had cried about how it was unfair that a skilled player like him hadn't been scouted by the Slytherin team when a "half-blood like her'' was playing. She had shut him and every one of her naysayers up by showing exactly how skilled she was on the pitch.

Through both immense talent and dedicated practice, for the first time in years, Gryffindor managed to win the Quidditch Cup. McGonagall had been over the moon when she was handed the trophy to display in her office.

On the flip side, while she had been elated to make the house team, not everything had gone as she intended. Unknown to nearly everyone, the wraith of Voldemort had possessed her DADA teacher and tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Headmaster Dumbledore, in his infinite wisdom, had decided that a school full of children was the best place to protect something Voldemort desperately wanted.

It had not even occurred to him until Rose herself had confronted the literally two-faced Quirinus Quirrell at the end of the year, that Voldemort had even been in the castle. She still remembered her mother verbally ripping him a new one when her parents had been called after her hospitalization.

Her father had been a mix of fear and pride. He didn't want to see anything bad happen to her, but the fact that she had the courage to stand up to the most feared Dark Lord in modern history at 11 made him proud beyond belief. To everyone in the know, she was a credit to her house.

Even with all the accolades she had achieved, including O's in all subjects, she couldn't help but feel anxious about the coming year. Everyone thought Voldemort had perished during his attack in Godric's Hollow in 1981. Seeing evidence of his survival firsthand had changed her.

Confronting a supposedly dead Dark Lord was a daunting prospect. It had been an adrenaline-fueled, spur of the moment decision that would likely traumatize her for the rest of her life. She hadn't been able to stare at or think about fire without shaking like a leaf for at least a month.

She supposed it came with the territory of literally burning a man to ashes. Her parents and Dumbledore all tried to convince her of her innocence in that regard, but she knew in her heart that she had killed Quirrell. It didn't matter what anyone else said.

It was only after several sessions with a Mind Healer that she came back out of the shell she had built around herself. Her family and friends had provided a supportive environment for her, and she was eternally grateful for it.

As she sat eating the delicious Cookies and Cream flavored ice cream surrounded by her best friends, she felt at peace. They had helped her so much last year, and she felt confident that no matter what happened, they would be there for her this year as well.

A sharp nudge disrupted her chain of thoughts as she scowled at Bianca. What was weird was how silent Bianca had gone, along with her eyes were popping out of their sockets. She fiercely whispered "Oh dear Merlin. Total hottie alert. Our 2 o'clock. Get a load of that hunk."

She and the girls turned around, trying to find who exactly Bianca was talking about. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and she was about to ask Bianca for clarification when her breath momentarily halted upon gazing at a lone figure among the throng of people.

Walking down the main street was a boy that looked out of place from his surroundings. There was an aristocratic grace in the way he seemed to glide down the Alley. He looked like he would fit in perfectly at one of those stuffy Pureblood soirees her parents attended.

There was a sense of confidence and purpose in his steps as he weaved in and out of the bustling crowd. There was also a certain swagger in his gait that drew her eye, one that told her that he was someone powerful and he knew it.

He was wearing stylish Muggle clothing. Black leather Chelsea boots with black jeans, a crisp white tee with a light grey denim jacket on top. Dangling on a silver chain around his neck was a pendant of a compass rose, and on his wrist was a shiny silver watch that she recognized as a Rolex due to her father's collection at home.

He looked slightly older than them, but not by much. One thing she immediately noticed was how handsome he was, even by Pureblood standards. He walked like one of those muggle male models in a fashion show that Bianca had shown her on the telly.

Turning to face the girls, Rose saw how out of it they looked. Hermione's jaw had unconsciously dropped as she stared at the boy. Susan was no better, but her Pureblood upbringing kept her reaction muted in comparison. Bianca's expression was one she was very familiar with, as the girl often lapsed into daydreams during their study sessions before she had to snap her out of it.

Rose could admit that she too had been stunned by the boy's looks, but surely her friends were being a touch dramatic, right? It was then that something happened. The boy in question stopped and turned to face them with a smirk on his face.

Hermione and Susan ducked their heads down in embarrassment at being caught looking. Bianca still had her head in the clouds, so she hadn't even realized she had been noticed. Rose looked at him and for a second, the world around her stopped. His green eyes glittered like emeralds in the afternoon sun as she momentarily lost herself in them. What was happening to her?

He gave her a brilliant smile that highlighted his perfect, white teeth. With a roguish wink, he moved out of sight and before she knew what was happening, he was gone like the wind. Rose was stunned by his disappearance and looked around, trying to spot him again. Not spotting him at all, she went back to her now slightly melted ice cream and snapped Bianca out of her daydream.

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about their encounter replete with many giggles and squeals. Rose didn't participate much, as she was lost in her thoughts, thinking about what had occurred between her and the boy.

There was something about him that felt familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. By the next morning, she had all but forgotten the encounter, brushing it off as nothing important. Little did she know how wrong she was.

Archer had been walking towards the Leaky Cauldron when he slowed his pace, as a feeling of being watched overtook him. Subtly turning to face the glass window of a nearby shop, his eyes flickered across the reflection, searching for his observers. Tucked away in the corner of the glass, he saw a small group of girls looking at him from an outdoor table at Fortescue's.

Deciding to be a bit playful, he abruptly turned to face them with a knowing smirk. This move had the intended effect, as he saw two of them get flustered and look down. The other two reacted differently. One had a thousand-yard stare while the other kept looking at him, and he recognized her immediately. How could he not?

Staring at him was Rose Lily Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived and her friend. Their eyes locked onto each other and for a second, the noises of the Alley all faded away. It was a mind-boggling experience to look at what was essentially a female version of himself (or his previous self?). He would never have expected to run into her like this.

She seemed to have noticed the odd effect as well, as she looked curiously at him. So he flashed a brilliant smile and threw in a wink for good measure. Her eyes widened and before she could respond in kind, he ducked behind an incoming family and silently Disapparated back to his hotel room. They would get to know each other eventually, but now was not the time.

Greeting his parents, who were shocked at his instantaneous appearance in the middle of the room, he went back to his room and started packing. He let his father know that his business was finished and that they could go back home, so Jean called the private airport they had landed at and scheduled the family's flight back to France.

They landed in France that same night and once he reached his room, he retrieved Ignotus' portrait from the trunk and mounted it on the wall. Waking Ignotus up with a tap of his wand, he spoke to him for a little while before heading to bed.

As he predicted, he entered the dream realm and met Morgana. "Welcome back, Archer. I know you are familiar with how this space works, so I won't bother explaining it to you again. Before we can really start your official training, I will give you some background on the Le Fay family, but more specifically, my life. To truly build a sense of self-identity, you must learn and understand the true history of your ancestors, one of whom, is myself.

Many historians wouldn't know the inner workings of Camelot as it faded into legend because of a ritual that Merlin conducted to hide the magical world from the mundane. The numerous legends and historical accounts eventually became so convoluted and confusing that this affected the denizens of the magical world as well.

Arthur was not, in fact, a wizard. He was a mundane swordsman who rose to prominence during the numerous battles against the invading Saxons. His burgeoning fame along with his magnetic personality started to draw magicals to his side as well.

My family being one of the first to support his claim to the throne of Britannia. He was a brave and honorable man who cared for his allies and treated all as his equal. In short, he had the temperament of a great king.

For some odd reason, after the destruction of Camelot, I heard the mundane world start spinning stories of me being his half-sister through his mother. This is categorically untrue, as we were raised in two separate worlds before our families met.

We were wed to solidify our alliance and as part of the dowry, my family paid to have a magical sword of unparalleled power crafted for him. The sword was a gift that was meant to be used in protection of our newly formed kingdom. That sword later became known as the fabled Excalibur, the legendary blade wielded by Arthur.

Early in our marriage, we were madly in love with each other. I was discovered to have a rare talent for magic, so Merlin had formally extended an offer of Apprenticeship to me, which I accepted. It was tough, as he was a harsh taskmaster, and Arthur had to work hard to grow our young kingdom.

That was where Merlin and I came to help him. We partnered with the magical population to increase crop yields through magic. Potions to help the mundane with the numerous illnesses they were susceptible to, were all available for cheap.

Arthur and I went to bed exhausted every single night, but we were both satisfied that our kingdom was finally flourishing. It wasn't until years later that we faced the first obstacle to our dream.

Every kingdom in history has at one point or another, been faced with an existential threat. Camelot was no different. The Saxons saw our prosperity and wanted to reap the benefits of our hard work for themselves.

They launched several campaigns aimed at conquering Camelot, and Arthur had to frequently take to the field to defend our precious home. The Saxons grew wise to our cooperation with the magical populace, so they emulated our strategy and integrated magicals into their armies.

Suddenly, Camelot found itself facing enemies that were strong and determined to displace the population from their home. The first battle against Camelot, they called upon the power of the elements to strike down Arthur's forces. They were successful beyond measure, as our army was sundered apart by harsh winds, devastating floods, and destructive bolts of lightning.

Arthur himself was gravely wounded and it was only Excalibur that saved his life that day. When a wounded Arthur was transported to the gates of Camelot, all the people wept in sorrow. They all thought we were doomed to suffer and lose our kingdom to those barbarians.

Merlin was charged with healing Arthur and tried to calm the people down, assuring them of their king's survival. He inspired confidence in them, and that kept things peaceful for the most part. I, on the other hand, decided to take a vastly different approach to the problem.

They had nearly killed my beloved husband, so I drew on the grief they had caused me and chose to fight back. I gathered a group of likeminded magicals, and we took to the field of battle, along with the remnants of Arthur's forces.

Merlin was the most powerful and knowledgeable wizard in the world. Many had attempted to take the title for themselves, only to be handily defeated by my master in magical combat. I had learned about many obscure and formidable fields of magic under his mentorship, one of which I discovered that I had a talent for.

My talent was in Elemental Arcane magics. I had the uncanny ability to utilize the elements in a way that nobody else was able to. I found it incredibly easy to invoke the deities that held domain over. Every element has a deity that holds power over it.

For example, the element of fire has many deities with their own variations of fire. The Egyptians worshipped Ra, the Hindus worshipped Agni, and the Greeks had Hephaestus. All of them were known to be the rulers of the element. In my research, I had come across an Egyptian goddess known as Wadjet. She was the protector of pharaohs and used her fire to burn her enemies.

I saw the parallels between Arthur and the ancient Egyptian pharaohs, so using only my will and magic, I called out to her. My call for help was successful as she manifested herself in front of me in all her glory. I informed her of how my husband the king had been wounded on the field of battle by enemy wizards. I called upon her to help in my revenge against his enemies.

She agreed and sent forth a blaze that could not be stopped by the Saxon army. It was a fire that burned with malice and hatred, something so terrifyingly hot that no water could ever extinguish it. Ancient creatures took shape from the inferno and attacked our enemies ferociously.

That fire burned for 3 days and nights, consuming nearly everything in its path to the ocean. Once it had completed its mission and obliterated our enemy, it disappeared on its own, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake.

I went home victorious, expecting the congratulations of my husband and people, only to discover their fear of me. Merlin was especially distraught with my actions and punished me harshly, formally breaking our bond as Master and Apprentice. While it hurt to lose Merlin's trust, it didn't affect me that much. It was Arthur's reaction that broke my heart and forever changed me.

He feared me. His own wife. I waited for him in our bed for several nights, only to find that he didn't want to lay next to me anymore. Whispers abounded throughout the kingdom of my actions. They called me a black-hearted demoness that would burn all who displeased her, sending their souls to Hell. Arthur and his court did nothing to stop their slander against me.

His knights all refused to associate with me, including those who had fought beside me. I was thoroughly isolated and utterly alone. Hence, I retreated to my study, furthering my knowledge of the Arcane arts, determined to show those who demonized me that my magic could be used for good.

I dissociated myself from my family, the court, and the people in my rabid pursuit for knowledge. By the time I figured out how things had changed and how badly damaged my standing truly was, it was far too late. Arthur had been seduced by that whore Guinevere and my family had been ostracized by the magical community.

We had lost nearly all our business partnerships and alliances save a couple. I was no longer seen as the Queen of Camelot, despite my marriage to Arthur. The writing was on the wall, so I enacted a desperate gambit.

I completed a ritual to gain the blessing of Demeter, the Greek goddess of fertility. I succeeded in my endeavor, took on the form of Guinevere that very night and accompanied Arthur into his chambers.

My trick was discovered later the following day, but it had paid off. I was pregnant with Arthur's son and had already retreated from the castle. I disappeared from Camelot and ended up at my family's doorstep. I had expected Arthur to be angry at my deception, but I had no idea how vicious and ruthless he had become.

He rallied his forces in the capital and rode to kill me for my supposed treachery against him. The people were whipped up into a frenzy by him and Merlin, all of them crying out for the death of myself and my unborn child.

I ran away from my family, to redirect Arthur's attention onto me and spare them from his wrath. I had hoped he would remember the bonds our families had shared during his early years as king, but that proved to be futile. My entire family was executed by the very sword they had gifted him to protect us. Quite ironic, wouldn't you say?"

Archer said nothing, not trusting himself to say a word when she mentioned her fall from grace. This was unlike anything he had read before. Then again, hearing the story from the mouth of the person who had lived it put things into perspective.

Morgana continued her poignant tale. "I was inconsolable for days upon hearing the gruesome fate of my family. I loved them with all my heart and learning of their deaths at Arthur's hand drove me to seek revenge.

I fled to one of the only remaining allies that had stood by us regardless of my reputation. The Peverells. They welcomed me with open arms and gave me refuge from my would-be killers. I gave birth to my son Mordred in their castle, and he grew up with their children.

They helped raise and train him for his mission to reclaim his rightful place as King of Camelot. Mordred fell in love with a girl from the family and went on to have a son before he left to take back the kingdom. As you know, he died in the Battle of Camlann facing off against Arthur, leaving his wife and young son behind.

That son went on to become the Lord Peverell and presided over the family for many years before passing the Headship over to his eldest son. The line continued until the famous brothers that created the Deathly Hallows, as you call them. The Peverells had become a family that was feared.

In a bid to save the family and secure their line, the three brothers, Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus hatched a bold plan. The older brothers would split off from the family and start their own cadet branches. Ignotus would act as a decoy to show the decline of the vaunted House Peverell and fool the rest of the world into thinking they would eventually go extinct.

Antioch went to a tavern and pretended to drunkenly boast about the Elder Wand, the unbeatable wand he had won from Death itself. That night, a man snuck into his room and slit his throat before seizing the wand for himself. Unknown to him, Antioch had substituted a transfigured construct in his bed, and was observing the proceedings from the adjacent room.

With his 'death' being reported the next morning, he left the inn and made his way to the village of Blackmoor. There he shed his disguise and started to create a new identity for himself. He chose a surname that honored my title during my time as Queen, Arglwyddes y Llyn Du, the Lady of the Black Lake. He named himself Arcturus Black of Blackmoor, first of his name.

The second brother, Cadmus chose to leave Britannia altogether, faking his suicide and journeying to the faraway lands of Africa and Asia. He pursued the arte of Rituals, seeking to improve upon the legacy I had left behind in the family's grimoire.

He became a famous wandering healer, using his knowledge of rituals to heal and protect the innocent. He settled down in India after years of exploring the world and found that many villages suffered from attacks by wild snakes.

To solve this problem, he created an Arcane blood magic ritual that allowed him to speak their language and command them. That language is known as Parseltongue in the modern era. After showcasing his talent for numerous villages, he earned the name Slytherin for his affinity to snakes.

He was successful in his experiment and became famous for his ability that he passed on to his numerous children. They were coveted for their talents, and soon enough, the magicals grew greedy and tried to forcefully breed the talent into their own families. The family magic reacted in retaliation, and the children stopped being able to pass on the gift of Parseltongue to their progeny.

Only his first two children survived the rabid onslaught of the Indian magical community, and both retreated from India for distant lands. After centuries passed, the last direct descendant of Cadmus, Salazar Slytherin, journeyed to his ancestor's homeland and helped found the school of Hogwarts along with his companions.

His only daughter married into the Gaunt family and that family went extinct due to excessive inbreeding in an attempt to keep their blood 'pure'. If what I learned from your memories is true, and Tom Marvolo Riddle is a descendant of the Gaunt family, then your situation has changed.

If he has indeed utilized Soul magic to create Horcruxes, he has lost all rights to both the Gaunt and Slytherin family magic. While the Gaunts were a separate family, the Slytherin title and magic would default to the family with primacy over it. It was initially a cadet branch to the Peverell family, so the Peverells would be able to lay claim to it.

Seeing as the House Peverell was dissolved, only the one who was able to open the vault and gain the approval of Ignotus would be able to claim the title of Lord Peverell. Since you received the title of Prince Le Fay, that means that you can claim primacy to the Peverell title and all other cadet branches that do not already have a designated Lord or Heir.

I have no doubt that once you complete the ritual to officially take your position as Prince, if you test your claims again at Gringotts, the Slytherin heirship would show up along with all your other titles. However, if the family already has a Lord or Heir, you will not be able to usurp their positions.

That won't be a problem in your case, seeing as the Peverell family Heirship is already in your hands, the Black family has no designated Heir Primus, and Tom Riddle lost the rights to the Slytherin family with his use of the Black Arts. Things have worked out quite nicely for you, haven't they Archer? Almost as if a greater power has shaped events to follow this path."

Archer didn't know how to respond to the true history of the Peverell family. To think that two of the most famous families in all Magical Britain all descended from the Peverells, who themselves were descendants of the great Morgana Le Fay.

Morgana also wasn't alone in her feeling, as he had similar thoughts regarding a higher power in the background but had no proof of its existence. It would explain his rather significant background and the many titles that had fallen into his lap by dint of his birth.

"Nevertheless, we must be thankful for your rather outrageous luck and focus on our next move. The enhancement rituals you conducted were powerful but based on simpler magic that didn't involve any Arcane aspects and only relied on sacrifices.

Under my guidance, you will learn the ins and outs of Arcane magic and how to invoke the presence of the elemental deities. It was a specialty of mine when I was alive, and it is the most powerful weapon you can have in your arsenal against any opponent, regardless of their strength.

Short of Merlin himself, not many will be able to cross wands with you on the battlefield once you master my signature magic. There is a reason true Arcanists are feared by all. The power they wield is godly in comparison to all other magics.

Be warned, it will not be easy, as you will be attempting to control forces that are beyond the scope of human understanding. Discipline and willpower will be key to maintaining your sanity in the face of the divine, so that is what we will focus on in the beginning before moving on to the basics of Invocation. Understood?"

Archer was grinning. He was ecstatic to learn the Morgana specialized in Arcane magic. It was something he had been planning on learning much later on, but being taught by a true Arcanist would increase his learning speed and also expose him to the more subtle aspects of the Arcane and how he could apply it to the upcoming war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

"What are we waiting for? I'd love to start learning as soon as possible." He eagerly asked.

Morgana smiled. "Patience, Archer. These magics are not to be underestimated. We must first lay down a solid foundation before building upon it. Now, let us begin with a review of the control exercises I witnessed my counterpart teach you."


	11. The French Prodigy

His training started that same night as Morgana made him review all his control exercises and complimented him on how far he had gotten, before adding an extra layer of complexity. The new exercises were much more fluid and stressed visualizing the flow of magic and changing to harmonize it with his surroundings. It was significantly harder than the rigid internal control that he had built up previously.

She educated him of the strata that magicals in this world were categorized into. There were squibs, who had an innate connection with magic that varied in strength but did not have the ability to channel it. Wizards were the average and most common category of magicals, they channeled the magic in their surroundings to cast a spell.

The next level above wizards were warlocks, who were able to personalize the magic before casting it, imbuing their unique signature into the very spells they cast. By being capable of such a feat, they could learn powerful ancient magics that were dependent on their intent. Essentially, only warlocks could learn and cast Grey magic.

The final and highest level a magical could achieve was the rank of mage. There was no need for them to channel magic through their bodies as they were able to manipulate magic in its most primal form. There were only seven at any given time, with all of them being Grandmasters of one Grey field of magic.

They tended to act like hermits, isolating themselves from the rest of society while shunning material wealth and power. This meant not many magicals ever had the opportunity to meet a mage.

Morgana was uncertain how it worked in the modern era, but back in ancient times, the mages formed the Council of Seven, guiding and protecting the secrecy of the magical world and the integrity of the Veil. House Le Fay had been granted a hereditary seat on the Council as a founding member, but after so many centuries had passed, she wasn't sure if that was still the case.

Hearing about mages and their abilities was overwhelming for Archer. Back in his old reality, the titles mage, warlock, and wizard had been used interchangeably to describe all magicals. It had more to do with culture and history than actual magical strength and knowledge.

A group of seven mighty mages would have put a stop to Voldemort and his madness quickly, ensuring the situation hadn't escalated past a certain point. It would have taken a load off his shoulders if such a group had existed.

That raised the question of how Voldemort had even been successful in this reality. If there were forces capable of defeating the Death Eaters without much trouble, why weren't they used? The Blood War started in the early 1970's and ended in 1981. Nearly a decade of infighting in the British magical community, and the outcome had practically been the same save for minor differences.

The Pureblood Lords had pleaded the same Imperius defense and gotten away with slaps on the wrist with several "donations" to good causes. He had hoped that this reality's Bagnold had been different, but she turned out to be the same corrupt bitch he remembered reading about previously. Why would the ICW not intervene in the Blood War?

The fighting had spilled over to the non-magical world several times, with Obliviation Squads being dispatched en masse to protect the Statute of Secrecy. With how many close calls there were, it was surprising that the ICW, the body that was charged with maintaining international relations between the magical communities and the Statute, wouldn't have at least offered aid. Last time he checked, the man had been elected as Supreme Mugwump while the war raged on and had requested international reinforcements on numerous occasions.

As he was pondering on the ICW's lack of action, another question came up. Why would the Council not order the ICW to intervene? From what Morgana told him, they were the de facto leaders of the magical world. They were obligated to meet once a year to be briefed on current events and make important decisions.

Surely, they had received reports on the battles of the British Blood War, right? They could have simply ordered the ICW to help put down the upstart Dark Lord who had systematically broken the Statute.

Protecting the secrecy of the magical world was in their job description. All they had to do was give the order and the war would have been finished before too many people lost their lives.

The fact that they hadn't rankled him. From his research, the war had extinguished several family lines. There were many more magicals in the world overall than he had thought. In his previous reality, the entire population of British Magical Society was less than ten thousand. Here, they numbered in the millions. Still, the death toll of the war was in the tens of thousands.

This would require some serious research as a big stumbling block had appeared in his previously well-thought out plans. Even if he gained influence in the French Ministry, the ICW could put a halt on reinforcements whenever they pleased. Another obstacle was the Council, which could also prevent the other countries from coming to Britain's aid.

'Damn! I need to make inroads in the ICW if I hope to stand a chance in the war. Was it bribery from the Death Eaters, like they did with the French Ministry?'

He wouldn't put it past Voldemort to have subtly influenced them to hold back until he was ready to confront them openly. The bastard was genuinely insane and had a flair for the dramatic, but one thing he couldn't be called was stupid.

The same went for Lucius Malfoy. Despite begetting a son that was nowhere near as smart and conniving, the man had clawed his way into the upper echelons of British Pureblood society and cemented House Malfoy's status as the leaders of the Traditionalist faction on the Wizengamot. The fact that the Malfoys were only an Ancient House that had been in Britain for less than 300 years only gave more credence to the man's incredible political acumen.

He was certain he could place the reason for the ICW's laissez-faire policy regarding the war against Voldemort solely at the feet of Lucius Malfoy. He was a key player that would need to be taken out early on to avoid future troubles. There was a good reason why he gained the reputation as Voldemort's left hand while Bellatrix was the right.

Taking out Malfoy would not only cause less deadlocks in governmental bodies around Europe, but it would also destabilize Voldemort's funding. The Malfoys were able to spend heavily on bribes mainly because of Narcissa and her status as a daughter of House Black. The Blacks provided all daughters of the house with personal vaults that would refill annually even after they were married.

The Malfoys had gained most of their liquid assets from Narcissa's vault. Combined with the family's original wealth and numerous shady business dealings, Lucius was able to grease all the right palms to always avoid justice for his reprehensible actions. Draco's claim to the Black fortune also brought them no small amount of business. With Sirius not imprisoned in Azkaban, and the rightful Lord Black, he wasn't sure if this was still the case.

'Looks like I'll have to dedicate this year to researching and planning out how to fight the war. Well, I'll probably end up becoming Marcel's number one customer with the number of books I'll need to order.' Archer groaned in frustration. Things just never were as easy as he thought they would be.

His family held his second ever birthday party, and this time, the guest list was much larger. With all the fancy Pureblood parties they had attended, courtesy dictated that they had to eventually give an invite back to their hosts.

He enjoyed it, despite the lack of the homey feeling of the first one. More people meant he had less time to stick to any one group, as he was the birthday boy. He spent the rest of the evening flitting about, conversing with both the children and the adults.

Laura had been invited along with Renaud. Both showed up to congratulate him, and Laura had arrived early to gift him three sets of bespoke Apprentice robes. Other than Renaud, all the other guests had been surprised when he was trotted out in his brand-new Apprentice robes with Laura officially reintroducing him to the guests as her Apprentice.

After they had gotten over the initial shock of the announcement, he had been bombarded with congratulations, as everyone was aware of what an astonishing accomplishment securing an Apprenticeship under a young but renowned Transfiguration Mistress like Laura.

Bertrand had warmly congratulated Laura for taking on such a talented young Apprentice and wished her all the best in her research and mentorship. The Pureblood Lords all sucked up to him more than he thought possible. Back when he last met them, he was still just a young man with potential.

Now, that potential had been recognized and he was a formal Apprentice. His social status had skyrocketed in their eyes, as now, it was a foregone conclusion that he would eventually become a Transfiguration Master himself.

With how young he was, they all correctly assumed that he was extraordinarily powerful for his age and would only become stronger as he grew older. Laura had been proud of the fact that her Apprentice was the second youngest in the guild's history. As a part of his speech, he expressed his gratitude for the support of his parents, mentors, and friends, declaring that he would make them all proud.

He started his 3rd year at Beauxbatons by catching everyone's eyes with his Apprentice robes at the Welcoming Feast. Madame Maxime had made a formal announcement of his status and offered her congratulations on behalf of the staff. Desjardin had been ecstatic about starting their duelling training, upon learning the news.

After finding out about his family, he noticed that the problems he used to face with Transfiguration had been ameliorated for the most part. It was still a little unstable, especially in large or complex transformations, but it was enough to cast the third-year spells, proving that he could further his studies in practical Transfiguration and not be restricted to theory.

He followed his regular routine, except he decided to drop Herbology and Astronomy to take up Runes and Arithmancy. It was a difficult course load to bear in conjunction with specifying a research topic that would eventually result in a Mastery Thesis and helping Laura with her research.

Desjardin started joining him in his morning training and guided his efforts into practicing skills and spells that would be useful for duelling. Their goal was for him to make his debut in the U-15 tournament over the summer. This was an important event as it would declare to the world that he was Desjardin's student, and a good placement would reflect well on his teacher's skills.

While they were training for the duelling circuit, he had demanded to be called either Coach or Henri, and not Professor Desjardin. His reasoning being that since they were training in a non-academic capacity, his title as Professor and the prestige attached to it did not apply to their situation. So Archer decided to call him Henri, simply because it was easier and slightly more personal than Coach.

The first semester flew by as he kept up with his schoolwork while researching both the magical governing bodies of the world and how they operated, as well as what his Mastery Thesis topic would be. By Winter Break, he had finalized two potential thesis topics, and registered early for the upcoming 1993 European U-15 tournament.

Over the Winter break, he convinced his parents to make a trip to Gringotts Moscow so he could meet with the Romanov Account Manager, Tibkasz. He learned a little bit about the history of the family, along with how exactly he was related to them. It turned out that he was the grandson of the youngest daughter of Tsar Nicholas II, Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia.

Many believed she had been executed with the rest of her family in the Ipatiev House by the Bolsheviks under the command of Yakov Yurovsky. What most didn't know was that Anastasia was the sole magical child born to the Romanov dynasty in decades. Her mother, who was the favorite granddaughter of Queen Victoria, wrote to the Queen to ask for her assistance in securing her daughter a magical education once she turned 11.

Before her death, Queen Victoria coordinated with the goblins to create a false identity for Anastasia so that she could attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Due to rising tensions on the European Continent, his great-grandmother convinced her husband to send his daughter to the safety of Great Britain instead of the school of his ancestors, the Durmstrang Institute.

She was admitted to Hogwarts under the pseudonym Anna Nichols and sorted into Slytherin House. From age 11, she completed 6 years of her education when tragedy struck. Her family was deposed, put under house arrest, and moved to their final prison before being summarily executed.

Luckily for her, she had secretly received a one-time use emergency portkey as a gift from her great-grandmother, the Queen. Sadly, after months of imprisonment with little to eat, she did not have the power necessary to take her family along with her, and was barely able to get out of the situation alive. On July 17, 1918, Anastasia portkeyed away from Ipatiev House to a secret underground chamber in Buckingham Palace.

There she was met by King George V, and his family, who consoled her after her devastating loss. Instead of whiling her time away in grief, she chose to put all her energy into studying for her N.E.W.T. exams. She worked like a woman possessed, determined to become a Healer. She attended her final year of Hogwarts and graduated at the top of her class.

From there, she secured a Healer Apprenticeship with St. Mungo's Hospital. Her initiative and drive to be the best caught the eye of the Head Healer, who took a hands-on approach to Anastasia's education.

She went on to become a fully certified Healer after 7 years of working under the direct supervision of the Head Healer. Ironically, her training was only supposed to take 3 years maximum. Upon the insistence of the Head Healer, she delayed her matriculation for 4 years.

This was done because the man was insistent on teaching her as much as he could. Had she chosen to graduate and become a Junior Healer, he would not have been able to train her like he could while her status was that of Healer Apprentice.

It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as upon graduation, her rank rose directly to Journeyman Healer, skipping the Junior Healer rank altogether. Her near encyclopedic medical knowledge combined with her passion for helping others helped her gain a legendary reputation in St. Mungo's and British Magical Society at large.

She dedicated the rest of her life to helping those in need and went on to invent a potion that cured hemophilia, a disease her little brother and many of her relatives suffered from. That potion was the famous Blood-Replenishing Potion, which went on to save the lives of millions around the world. It was a potion that was still used to this day and was considered a staple in a Healer's medical kit.

When the Global Wizarding War against the Dark Lord Grindelwald kicked off, she was one of the first from St. Mungo's to volunteer with the ICW as a field medic. There she met Alessandro Sforza, the man who would go on to become his grandfather.

His grandfather was from a minor Italian noble house that specialized in Transfiguration, which explained his own affinity to the field. He was a frontline combatant that oftentimes got injured during his missions. His frequent visits to the field hospital allowed him to meet his grandmother and they eventually fell in love and got married near the end of the war.

According to Tibkasz, she gave birth to his father Alexei "Alex" Sforza shortly before her death. Apparently, three Russian wizards were celebrating the end of the war in Italy, when they recognized her on the street. Stalin's propaganda had inculcated a blind hatred within all Russians towards the royal family. One they chose to act upon.

They followed her, found out where she lived, and attacked her and her family that same night. When they attacked his grandparent's house, his grandfather brought her enough time to escape with his father.

She dropped him off at a local orphanage before drawing their attention away. After a long chase, they finally cornered her and killed her in cold blood. In their blind rage, they hadn't realized that she was a Healer, and there was a reason that no one dared to harm Healers.

The moment life had left her body, the men were cursed by Apollo, the deity who had blessed her when she took her Healer's Oaths. They all fell deathly ill and every Healer who tried to help found that they couldn't. This let them know that they had committed the sin of killing a Healer, and they were left to die in terrible pain and abject misery.

With his grandmother dead, and his grandfather succumbing to his injuries, his father was left to grow up an orphan. Tibkasz didn't know exactly what happened next, as his father never contacted him about the Romanov accounts. Presumably, he had never bothered to take an Inheritance test and find out about his parents for whatever reason.

Some unknown time later, he most likely met the woman who would become Archer's mother and died shortly after. Tibkasz had taken it upon himself to search extensively for Alexei and only found out that he had died in France during a Death Eater attack in 1978. The greedy little bugger had attempted to close and seize the riches for himself and the Nation, only to find that an Heir existed, and he couldn't.

Archer had a good chuckle at the disappointment Tibkasz had shown when he had arrived. The Romanov account had been accruing a healthy interest for a long time and had become Gringotts Moscow's most important account. He felt a sadistic pleasure when he told Tibkasz that he was closing the account and transferring his money elsewhere.

The goblin had raged about and almost threatened his life, but a quick flare of magic told him exactly how bad an idea that would have been. Reluctantly, they completed the paperwork to formally close the account and a surly squad of guards had escorted him to the vault, which he emptied using the enchanted trunks he found in the Peverell vault.

Leaving Russia, they made a quick trip to Warsaw, Poland on their journey back to France. There, he met with the dwarves of Khazarak, and opened an account with them to house the Romanov family fortune.

It had been amusing to see his parents' expressions when they were informed of the conversion rate of Galleons to Euros. He had inherited the wealth of one of the richest families in all of Russia and combined with his other accounts, his individual net worth was nearing their family's total net worth.

As he learned more about his family history, he could feel a strange sense of belonging forming in the back of his mind. When he asked Laura about it at the start of the spring term, she was over the moon. That feeling he had experienced was the formation and stabilization of his magical self-identity. With this, his problems with Transfiguration would effectively disappear.

Her words proved to be true, as his skills had seemingly come back to him. The ease in which he could cast spells was slowly recovering to his peak during the war against the demons. The only difference was that he could feel himself growing even stronger. His maturation had started and as he pushed himself during workouts, he felt the steady development of his muscles.

Morgana decided that March 7th at 7:07 in the evening would be the perfect time to execute the final ritual to take up his position as Prince Le Fay. So he spent almost a month scouting out a good location that he could ward to prevent others from interrupting.

Morgana had assured him that the ritual was subtle and not very flashy. However, he wasn't about to take her words at face value. When undergoing the final rite, he would take whatever measures he could to prevent any situation that would bring unwanted scrutiny onto him.

He did not want to explain to the French authorities or anyone that he was the Prince Le Fay. It was a hidden card that he could reveal later, in a setting that would bring him the most advantages.

The months flew by as the fated day approached. Before he knew it, the day of the ritual was upon him. Breathing deeply, he engaged in Occlumency exercises to calm himself down. He had prepared the necessary ingredient and runic circle ahead of time and practiced the chant to the point he knew it by heart.

Sneaking out of his dorm, he Disillusioned himself and silenced his clothes and shoes before creeping down to the room he had prepared. Back in the old days, Beauxbatons had a class on Rituals that was mandatory for all non-magical born students. It was outlawed by the French Ministry in the 1800's after several students did irreparable damage to themselves by attempting rituals they had created.

The room that had been used by the students to go through the rituals still existed. It had long been forgotten due to disuse, but when he had checked the wards, they were still as strong as ever, showing no degradation despite the passage of time.

He had inadvertently learned of its existence from a book in the library that he had been using to learn the history of Beauxbatons. The book in question had described the earlier formation of the school wards and what all it protected. His initial plan of conducting the ritual in the forest was scrapped almost immediately, seeing as the wards would detect the spike of magical energy and immediately alert the Headmistress.

He had been about to close and return the book to its place when he saw the small footnote at the bottom of the page. It mentioned a room the warders purposely avoided because it was used to teach a subject that might have unpredictable reactions to any external magic. That led to his discovery of the ritual room and its location.

He slowly made his way down the stairs to the basement, where the room was located. Entering the room, he tapped his wand to the rune cluster next to it, sealing it off from the outside. In the center, the runic circle he had painstakingly drawn with his own blood lay undisturbed. Walking towards it, he placed the Blood-Replenishing Potion right next to it so he could easily reach for it once he was finished.

He looked at the small clock he had kept near the circle to ensure his starting time was precise. It showed 7:00 on the dot. Dispelling the stasis charm on the vial of Morgana's blood, he disrobed and grabbed his ritual knife before taking his place at the center of the circle. The second hand ticked slowly, with the minute hand slowly encroaching towards the seventh minute.

He recited the words several times in his head as only the sound of his breath and the ticking of the clock resounded in the room. Upon reaching 30 seconds before the start time, he took a deep breath and prepared himself. This was a crucial ritual that would affect his blood, and there was no telling what could happen if he messed it up.

'Well, here goes nothing' was his last thought before the final few seconds till 7:07. The moment the second hand pointed straight up, he began the chant.

"Mater Magica, audite mea vocant. Voco vos ad iudicem a me, ut quaesitor statera (Mother Magic, hear my call. I call you to judge me as a seeker of balance.)"

The circle lit up, throwing a blood red glow onto the walls of the ritual room. The magic in the air stirred as he finished the first line.

"Ego pignus me tueri contra filios mala Chaos (I pledge myself to protect your children against the evils of Chaos.)"

The circle grew brighter, slightly blinding him with its intensity. He took the ritual knife and cut both his palms deeply. Placing the knife down, he kept his arms relaxed at the side, letting the rivulets of blood fall onto the circle.

"Ego pignus meum sanguinem, et magia ad tuendam sanctitatis anima mea (I pledge on my blood and magic to protect the sanctity of my soul.)"

The room shook slightly as the surrounding magic roiled and a light wind started blowing through the room. Archer continued as if in a trance, ignoring the changes around him.

"Ego pignus me adjuvaret bona et traditiones Domus Le Fay (I pledge myself to uphold the values and traditions of the House Le Fay.)"

He unstoppered the vial and gradually poured the crimson liquid onto the circle.

"Cum hoc sanguinem meum a proavorum, ego vocare eos iudicare meam dignitatem (With this blood from my ancestor, I summon them to judge my worthiness.)"

The blood he poured boiled slightly as it shifted to combine with the blood he had shed previously. A shining white ball of magic started forming in front of him. It grew as time passed, taking on a humanoid shape.

More changes occurred as the figure's features became slightly more defined until he saw the specter of Morgana standing in front of him. Her imperious gaze pierced his soul as her eyes glowed bright purple. The situation reminded him of the time she bestowed the title of Prince Le Fay onto him in the Peverell vault.

"Ego iudicabo vos esse dignum Domus Le Fay. Ite et adducite honorem nostrum nomen semel, iuvenis princeps Le Fay. Ut Mater Magica dux tibi magnitudo (I judge you to be worthy of House Le Fay. Go forth and bring honor to our name once more, young Prince Le Fay. May Mother Magic guide you to greatness.)"

Morgana dissolved into several motes of light which rushed towards him. The combination of his own blood and the blood he used to summon Morgana traveled up his feet and started forming a red cocoon around him.

Before he knew it, he was encased in a hard shell and there was a roaring sound in his ears. He couldn't move and he didn't know what was happening, as Morgana couldn't explain the entire ritual to him due to certain Oaths. He closed his eyes and relaxed as he retreated into his mind. At least he was confident that the ritual had gone off without a hitch.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he felt a small heat encompassing him. It slowly grew in intensity until the shell started to crack. In a grand burst of fire, the shell was broken and incinerated signaling his rebirth as the Prince Le Fay. Pain overtook his senses as he fell backwards, completely exhausted.

'I did it, Morgana. I'm now the true Prince Le Fay' was his last thought as he lost consciousness.

At the same time the blood cocoon around Archer shattered, far away in Great Britain, Sirius Black and his wife were enjoying their traditional Sunday dinner with the Potters. After Rose started Hogwarts, James had rejoined the Ministry as a Hit-Wizard. Partnering with Sirius once more, they had quickly demonstrated that the teamwork they had been famous for during the war was as deadly as ever.

Their wives had encouraged having a weekly dinner where they traded gossip and chatted about their lives. It helped keep their minds of the children, who were no doubt up to their usual mischief in Hogwarts.

These dinners had become something both families had come to rely on when they heard the news of Voldemort possessing Quirinus Quirrell and attacking Rose. Learning he was alive had brought up numerous past traumas they had suffered. In a way, the weekly dinners became a therapeutic outlet for them to talk about their worries for the future and plan on how to deal with them.

Sirius was in the middle of lightening the mood with a joke he heard at work when his ring started buzzing excitedly. It lit up as the raven totem of the Black family manifested in front of him. Its sudden appearance stunned everyone in the room.

He felt a nudge in the back of his mind. Something had changed and the family magic was trying to tell him what it was. He made a quick excuse before getting up from the table.

"Excuse me. I must check on something immediately. I'll be right back."

He briskly walked over to the Floo in the living room and grabbed a handful of Floo powder, throwing it into the fire.

"12 Grimmauld Place!" He clearly shouted before rushing into the billowing green flames.

He spun through the Floo Network, careening towards his destination. The fireplace at 12 Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the Black family flared to life. Sirius stepped out and absentmindedly withdrew his wand and vanished any soot that might have been on his clothes. The raven flew out of his body and went upstairs, asking him to follow it.

The call of the magic got stronger as he neared his destination. Opening the door, he made his way towards the tapestry that was mounted on the wall. Numerous scorch marks dotted the surface, displaying the evidence of his deceased mother's madness.

His eyes flickered over the many names. Something had changed on this tapestry. That was what the family magic was trying to tell him. He went down the generations and followed the line down his grandfather's branch. It showed his father Orion and two lines, one of which led to a picture of his younger brother Regulus Black II, while the other was charred.

Not seeing what he was looking for, he went to the branch adjacent to his grandfather's. His maternal grandfather Pollux and his wife Irma, along with their three children were all displayed. Seeing nothing there, he moved to the next person in the same generation. That was when he saw it.

A line that initially wasn't there now prominently joined one Cassiopeia Black and a blank figure that had appeared next to her. It led down to another blank leaf.

It did not show any information other than the figure of a female. This meant that his Aunt Cassiopeia had given birth to a daughter. Underneath the daughter's leaf was another blank leaf, except this one showed the figure of a male. The daughter had given birth to a son.

His eyes widened in disbelief as he noticed something different about the son's leaf. There was a distinct mark of a raven on top of it. Whoever this mystery grandson of his Aunt was, he was the new Heir Primus of the Black family. Someone he hadn't even known existed had suddenly become first in the line of succession.

Recovering from his shock, he tried to think about what to do next. Should he confront his Aunt as the Lord Black? No, she had been one of the few in the family to never fear his grandfather, and that man was much scarier than he was.

Sirius snapped his fingers. That was it! He needed to inform his grandfather.

Rushing back downstairs, he walked up to the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black.

"Phineas Nigellus Black, the Lord Black has need of your services."

The sleeping portrait stirred and crankily muttered. "Kids these days. No respect for their elders." He gave a dramatic sigh. "What do you require of me, Lord Black?"

Sirius stifled a chuckle at his ancestor's antics. "I need you to go to your frame at Blackmoor Castle and call for my grandfather. Tell him it's regarding family matters, and I request his presence at Grimmauld as soon as possible."

The portrait bowed. "It will be done, Lord Black."

"Thank you, Phineas."

Phineas walked out of his portrait and Sirius sat down in the living room, awaiting his grandfather's arrival. After several minutes, the Floo flared to life as an elderly gentleman dressed in all black walked out of the fireplace with a scowl on his face.

"This better be as important as you made it sound, brat. If you disturbed my sleep for some foolish reason, Lord Black or no, I will bend you over my knee."

Sirius shivered at the thought. He had the misfortune of experiencing that once and he wasn't in a rush to ever go through that ordeal again.

"Thank you for coming quickly, grandfather. I was at dinner with the Potter when the family magic alerted me to something. It led me to Grimmauld where I found out something potentially good for our family has occurred. It will be easier to show you, so follow me."

Arcturus saw how serious his grandson was, so he followed him without further complaint. The pair made their way to the tapestry room where Sirius stood in front and simply pointed at Cassiopeia's leaf. Arcturus followed his finger and audibly gasped.

'Cassiopeia had a child? When was this?' Unlike all the other leaves, hers was not showing any information, including the year of birth or death. For all he knew, she was still alive.

His eyes went down to the sole leaf beneath the previously unknown daughter and his eyes widened in disbelief upon seeing the mark of the raven. "Cassiopeia's grandson is the new Heir Primus?"

Sirius nodded mutely.

Arcturus' mind was whirling with the possibilities. Cassiopeia was a proud daughter of the Blacks. There had to be a reason why his dear cousin had chosen to use the family magic to prevent her children from showing up on the tapestry. Whatever the reason was, they both needed to find out, as the future of the Black family rested on the shoulders of her grandson.

"Sirius, follow me." Arcturus gruffly commanded as they made their way to the Floo. One way or another, he would get answers from his cousin.

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder he yelled out their destination and threw it into the fire. "Schwarzdorne Herrenhaus (Blackthorn Manor)!"

The green flames billowed wildly as he and Sirius both stepped through. International Floo trips were significantly more uncomfortable than domestic ones. Arcturus had taught Sirius the trick to making sure he closed his eyes to avoid motion sickness and predict the timing of his exit to ensure he wasn't shot out of the Floo onto his arse.

While Blackthorn Manor was an extremely well-fortified property with extensive wards to prevent people from entering without permission, Sirius' Lord ring ensured they were given passage.

They stepped out of the Floo and looked around. The Manor looked to be in pristine condition. It was clean and maintained, yet there was a sense of emptiness. It was as if no one had been entertained in the living room for decades.

Before he could ask his grandfather what they were doing, a black spell came barreling towards them from the shadows. It was a good thing Sirius was a Hit-Wizard who had kept up his training, as his honed reflexes were the only thing that saved him.

An airy female voice called out to them. "You are trespassing on the property of the Black family. Surrender yourselves immediately, or you shall perish."

Arcturus spoke while Sirius recovered from the ambush. "Cassiopeia, relax. It's me, your dear cousin along with your favorite nephew."

From the shadows, a tall and lean figure emerged. "Arcturus? Sirius? To what do I owe such an impromptu late-night visit?"

Arcturus huffed. "Don't pretend you don't know why we're here Cassie. The jig is up, as they say. Did you think you could hide it forever?"

Cassiopeia did not react to the taunt at all. "I have no idea what you're on about, Arty. However, seeing as you and the Lord Black have decided to grace me with your presence, I must first offer proper courtesies."

She walked over and gestured to the sofa and armchairs. "Please have a seat. Would you like any refreshments?"

Sirius was the first to walk over and sit down. "I would like some water. Also, please prepare a bottle of Firewhiskey and three glasses. I have a feeling the conversation will require it."

Arcturus stood where he was with narrowed eyes. He knew that Cassiopeia had an idea of why they were there. Of course, being one of the most formidable witches in the Black family, she was not going to give up the information without a fight.

He grunted and gave her a nod in acceptance as he moved towards the sofa Sirius was sitting on. "Nothing for me, thank you."

Cassiopeia called a house elf. "Topsy."

An excited elf popped into the room. "What will you be needing, Miss Cassie?"

"A glass of water with the pitcher. Along with three tumblers and our finest bottle of Ogden's."

The elf gave a low bow before snapping its finger, making a pitcher of water and a glass appear in front of Sirius. It then popped away to fulfill the other request while Cassiopeia took her seat across from them. Her wand never left her hand.

"So, would either of you like to tell me why you have deigned to visit little old me? I thought I had been forgotten after all this time."

Arcturus tried to speak, but Sirius silenced him with a glare. Turning to her, he spoke. "It is good to see you after all this time, Aunt Cassiopeia. How are you doing these days?"

Cassiopeia gave him a small smile. "I am doing as well as can be, Sirius. I have my research to keep me occupied and I occasionally teach for a year to take a break."

Sirius smiled happily. "It is good to hear that, Aunt Cassie. If I may ask, where and what do you teach?"

Cassiopeia gave a sly grin. "I teach here and there, but my topic is usually educating young minds about the Dark Arts. I am one of the foremost scholars on the subject, as you well know."

Sirius lightly gulped. He did know. His Aunt Cassiopeia had been the one who taught his cousin Bellatrix everything she knew. To this day, despite losing her sanity in service to Voldemort, Bella was still one of the most formidable duellists in Europe. She wouldn't have been half as skilled if not for his Aunt's personal instruction.

Arcturus had finally had enough of their dancing around and decided to get to the point. "Cassiopeia, we discovered a change in the family tapestry at Grimmauld. It showed you had a daughter. Why did you hide her existence from the family?"

Cassiopeia stiffened before looking down. "I did it to protect her, Arty. During a time in my life when I made so many mistakes, she was the only good thing to come out of it. I had hoped to raise her in a world where she wouldn't have to hide her magic. Sadly, it was not meant to be."

Sirius looked a little lost at the conversation. Obviously, there was some hidden context he was missing. "What do you mean, Aunt Cassie? What period of your life are you referring to?"

Cassiopeia looked at him in surprise before glancing at Arcturus. "You didn't tell him, Arty? I would have thought once he inherited the Black Lordship, you would inform him why I isolated myself from the family."

Arcturus pinched the bridge of his nose while sighing. "I never saw any reason to. It was not like you attended any of the family functions save the funerals for a couple of hours. It also never came up in conversation, as you retreated from society at large."

Turning to Sirius, he spoke. "I guess you are entitled to hear the unabridged story of your aunt's youth. She graduated Hogwarts after the first muggle World War. Her interest in the Dark Arts took her all over the Continent, learning from some of the most skilled practitioners of the field.

There she met and took up the banner of a charismatic and powerful warlock. He went on to gain the title of Dark Lord Grindelwald, the man who started the Global Wizarding War to subjugate the muggles.

Cassiopeia entered his inner circle and proved to be deadly on the battlefield. She initially didn't tell any of us what exactly she was doing in Europe but assured us that she was safe. My father, who was the Lord Black at the time, felt no need to recall her to Britain. After he passed, I took on the mantle of Lord Black right around the time Britain decided to send reinforcements to the Continent.

Imagine my surprise when I saw her on the opposite side of the battlefield. She took the initiative and caught me off guard. She was extremely skilled, and in my unwillingness to spill Black blood, I ended up being badly injured.

After that, I didn't meet her again for another 4 years. I was much better prepared for our second encounter, as I had planned it out ahead of time. I knew I couldn't match her duelling experience, but I had something in my arsenal that she didn't. The family magic.

Our second duel was a short one, as I called upon the raven to punish her for daring to attack her Lord. She was bound by the family magic, and there was no way for her to fight. I poured a vial of Draught of Living Death down her throat and secreted her away from her allies to our villa in France.

She stayed in suspension for the duration of the war, and only after Dumbledore managed to defeat Grindelwald, did I wake her."

Sirius was dumbstruck by what he had just heard. His aunt had been a part of Gellert Grindelwald's inner circle? No wonder she had hidden away after her side lost.

Cassiopeia took over the story. "After Arcturus woke me up, I was despondent. I had lost myself in the haze and in the process, spilled rivers of magical blood. Some of the things I did in my time with the Alliance still haunt me to this day.

I asked Arcturus to kill me, letting me die a somewhat honorable death, but he chose to spare me out of some misguided sense of responsibility. After that, I took up residence in this property and stuck to my research in the Dark Arts.

The only time I left was when Pollux begged me to train Bellatrix. I agreed almost immediately upon meeting her. She reminded me a lot of myself when I was her age, and I saw it as an opportunity to repent for my sins during the war. Her strength would also be a blessing to the House of Black, so I taught her almost everything I knew, hoping that she wouldn't make the same mistakes I made."

Cassiopeia scowled as she continued. "Then she went and joined that half-blood upstart Voldemort. I don't know what happened, but she was forever changed once she came back from one of their 'raids'. The girl I had dedicated so many years of my life to had disappeared, and in her place, was a monster.

I heard of her actions during the Blood War. It was why I left the family for good and decided to live out the end of my days in this dreary home."

Her eyes teared up as she sniffed lightly. "Another reason was that I could secretly keep track of my daughter, my darling Celeste. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. Her father was a Muggleborn I had met during an Alliance rally. Arthur was so handsome and charming, I couldn't help but fall in love with him.

I dreamed every night of us living as a family once the war was won. He was such a gentle soul, always wanting to do good by me and her. He died covering our escape from an ICW ambush in our Headquarters, and I was completely lost afterward.

I knew that the family would never accept her due to her blood status. Her life was all I cared about, so I did the hardest thing I ever had to do and gave her up. It was a good thing too, as I had no idea whether she would have survived my elder brother's anger."

Arcturus cleared his throat. "That wouldn't have happened Cassie. Your daughter may have been a half-blood, but the blood of the Black family still ran through her veins. We would have accepted her if only you had told us."

Cassie snorted. "Don't lie to me, Arcturus. You were just as much of a blood supremacist if not more so than Pollux. You mellowed out in your old age.

Sirius might not know how you were when you were younger, but I remember clearly. My daughter's life would have been threatened and don't you dare try to deny it."

Arcturus sighed deeply before reaching for a tumbler and opening the bottle of Firewhiskey that had appeared during their conversation. Oh he liked to think that he would have been better, but he knew she was correct in her assumption. He hadn't been nearly as accepting in his youth as he was now. Cassiopeia had made the right decision, and it hurt him to realize that.

He poured himself a dram before taking a large sip. A pleasant heat built up in his abdomen and traveled up his throat as he lightly exhaled a small plume of fire. Taking a deep breath, he collected himself, and spoke softly.

"Alright Cassiopeia. I can admit that you did the right thing, but I want to know how you hid her from the tapestry. It should be impossible as anyone with a smidgeon of the family magic will show up on it."

Cassiopeia looked like the cat that ate the canary. "That depends. How much is that information worth to you?"

Scowling, Arcturus replied. "You're really going to try and bargain with me?"

"Yes." A short and sweet reply was all he got.

"Fine. I have a unique and rare book on some ancient Dark rituals from the early 1800's in my personal collection. Will that suffice?"

"Perfectly. The tapestry relies on blood magic to detect the existence of new Blacks. Should they awaken the family magic, it would be able to also report on the death of any member of the House of Black based on whether the family magic still tied them to the House.

I devised a blood ritual that allowed me to use Arthur's blood to suppress and conceal Celeste's existence from the tapestry. Before I gave her to the orphanage, I used another blood-based ritual to conceal her true appearance, hiding any evidence that she was my daughter.

I made my fair share of enemies during the war with how many people I killed. If they learned that I had a daughter, they wouldn't have hesitated to kill her to get back at me. So one night I snuck out of Nurmengard with Celeste, and Apparated all the way to Paris, deep inside enemy territory, and left her at a local orphanage. I made sure to donate a decent amount of money to ensure that she and the other children would be well cared for.

Once I said my goodbyes, I Apparated back to Nurmengard and Arcturus drugged and spirited me away barely a week later. When I first arrived here, I used the network I had built up to learn more about her life."

Cassiopeia took a tumbler and filled it halfway before gulping it down. Her shoulder shuddered as tears ran down her face. She struggled to continue as her breath hitched. Nevertheless, she kept going.

"She grew up to be a beautiful young woman. She was powerful too, and received an acceptance letter to Beauxbatons, where she met her future husband. He was an orphan of Italian ancestry who lost his parents during the war.

They bonded over their shared experiences and got married in 1978, in a magical temple in Rome. It was a private ceremony, and they shared their marriage vows in front of a statue of Venus. I witnessed it using scrying magic, and I was so tempted to meet her and congratulate them in person.

I held myself back at the last moment, thinking that she had found happiness, and I didn't have any right to interfere with her life ever since I gave her up that night. I stuck to protecting her and her husband from the shadows, but my efforts were for naught.

Her husband was killed in a Death Eater attack in Paris, and she was left all alone. After that horrible event, she completely disappeared, and none of my contacts could locate her. A year later, I learned that my enemies had finally learned of her existence and killed her in retaliation for my actions in the war."

Her tone turned dark and foreboding. "I was furious. If they had tried to kill me, I wouldn't have minded, but they had taken the one thing I still lived for. It was unacceptable to me, so I took revenge on them for killing my precious daughter. I taught them what happens to those who dared to cross Cassiopeia Black.

I covered my tracks well. Not a single person knew who had slaughtered those families and they were too scared of incurring the wrath of the killer themselves. I came back home that day wanting to end my misery once and for all. I had a vial of Mortis Amplectu in my hand and was about to imbibe it when something stopped me.

I don't know why, or how, but I somehow managed to partially regain my will to live. I struggled in the aftermath. Some days were good, others had me rethinking my decision to live on. I buried myself in research to distract from the pain. Not a day goes by that I don't think about her."

Silence reigned as Cassiopeia described her deceased daughter's life and the suicide attempt that followed. Arcturus was struggling to keep calm as his hand tremored. Learning how close his dear cousin had been to ending her life was painful to hear.

He had been Lord Black during that time. He had willingly fallen out of contact and never bothered to reach out other than to invite her to the funerals of several close family members. If she had taken her life… He didn't want to think about how that would have affected him.

Sirius poured himself a glass of Firewhiskey which he downed in one gulp as he tried to process what he had heard. It hurt deeply to find out that his favorite aunt, who had always accepted him for who he was, tried to kill herself. He felt the knowledge weighing down on him as he tried to come to terms with it.

There was a time when he too had considered taking a shortcut to the next great adventure. His Aunt Cassiopeia and Uncle Alphard had been the ones who had reached out and convinced him that things would get better. Now, he was married to the love of his life, and had a beautiful daughter who was the apple of his eye. He couldn't imagine his life without them.

Looking at the sobbing figure of his aunt, he decided to try and give her the same hope she had given him at his lowest. "Aunt Cassie. You do have a reason to live, as you are not alone."

Cassiopeia sniffled while wiping her eyes. "What are you talking about, Sirius?"

"What I'm saying is that my cousin Celeste gave birth before she was killed. You have a grandson that is still alive, Aunt Cassie."

Cassiopeia went still. "No. That's not possible" she whispered disbelievingly.

Arcturus interjected. "He's the reason we found out about your daughter, Cassiopeia. The family magic informed Sirius that the House of Black had a new Heir Primus. That was what led us to seeking you out."

"Heir Primus? My grandson? How is that possible? I ensured that the Black family magic was suppressed before giving Celeste away. There was no way it could manifest in her son."

"As of right now, the tapestry only shows a blank male figure. Can you dispel the magic so we can find out about your grandson's identity and locate him?" Sirius asked.

Cassiopeia shook her head. "The ritual I devised was foolproof. I made it so that nobody in the Black family could ever dispel it. Otherwise, Celeste might have been discovered. The only way it would have dispelled itself is if… No. It can't be" she gasped.

"What is it?" Arcturus worriedly inquired.

"The only way it could be dispelled is if my grandson took on the title of a family with primacy over the Blacks. There's only one family that holds that position." She spoke while staring at Arcturus.

Arcturus' eyes widened. "The Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell" he whispered, almost reverently.

Sirius looked at their interaction in confusion. "Peverell? Like the Tale of the Three Brothers?"

Arcturus was jolted out of his thoughts. "The very ones. In fact, our very first ancestor, Arcturus Black I, was born Antioch Peverell. The eldest of the three brothers of legend. The one who received the Elder Wand from Death itself. Though, that story was a load of nonsense."

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked.

"What he means is that the legend you grew up with is nothing but that. A tall tale woven by the three brothers for the express purpose of saving their family. The Peverells were feared by all due to their rich history and powerful family magic. In the time of Antioch, the house had fallen on hard times, and the wolves were circling in the periphery, looking for a sign of weakness.

To secure the legacy of the family, Antioch, along with his brothers Cadmus and Ignotus, hatched a cunning plan. The elder two would fake their deaths and start new families that would become cadet lines to the House of Peverell.

Ignotus would act as a decoy, to show the world that they had weakened and were not worthy of being attacked or feared. His line eventually ended with a granddaughter, Iolanthe, who married into the family that became the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter.

Antioch faked his death as planned and settled down in the village of Blackmoor. There he took on the identity of Arcturus Black, first of his name, and built the foundations that would see us become one of the oldest Pureblood houses in all of Britain.

His younger brother Cadmus left Britain altogether and traveled the world. He settled in India and earned a name from the local populace that would go on to influence Magical Britain several centuries later. You, my dear Sirius, along with all Blacks, are related to the legendary Salazar Slytherin."

Sirius' jaw dropped at the bombshell she dropped. He was related to one of the founders of Hogwarts. The same one that Voldemort was related to no less!

Arcturus gave a deep chuckle. "Don't look so surprised, brat. There was a reason why the Black family was predisposed to Slytherin House. Ties of blood to a founder does have a large effect on the sorting process. You and your daughter are the only ones to buck the tradition and be sorted into Gryffindor."

"I cannot believe that I have a grandson. It fits the timeline though, from when her husband died to the day she was killed. She could have given birth. There was simply nothing for my contacts to go on, as Celeste must have given birth to him in secret. Otherwise, there would be some paper trail to follow."

"Cassie, reach out to all of your contacts and try to find him. We must locate and retrieve him as soon as possible. The family's future depends on it. I will not have that brown-nosing prick Lucius Malfoy and his spawn steal the legacy of our ancestors out from under us." Arcturus resolutely declared.

"Don't worry, I will mobilize every resource I can to find him." Cassiopeia gave her word, fierce determination and newfound hope in her eyes.

"You have my complete support in your search, Aunt Cassie. Let me know if you need anything, and I'll make it happen." Sirius pledged.

Cassiopeia nodded. "Thank you, Sirius. I will start immediately. When we find him, all I ask is that you let me contact him first. Before we involve any House business, I want to meet him as his grandmother."

Both men agreed. They could tell she needed this.

After seeing them off, Cassiopeia made her way to her study and tapped her wand to a hidden rune cluster on the side of her writing desk. A small pulse of her magic caused a hidden compartment to pop out. Reaching inside, she retrieved a black leather journal.

Opening it, she started going down a list of names along with individual dossiers. This was her little black book, which contained blackmail material on nearly every major politician and magical house in Europe. Her time under Gellert had not been only spent inflicting pain and death to others.

He had been a masterful manipulator, who had built a robust information network that allowed him to bribe and blackmail any politician who had stood in his way. The entire German Ministry had fallen to his ploys and power grabs. A little information leaked at just the right time to cause a scandal large enough to oust a bureaucrat from his position, allowing Gellert to replace them with a loyal supporter of his cause.

If there was anything the man had taught her, it was that everyone had skeletons in their closet. Knowing how to use that information was an artform that could only be learned and honed through practice.

After nearly 40 years playing the Great Game, as she called it, she could probably be considered one of the few Grandmasters in the art of politics. At the very least she was no less skillful than Albus Dumbledore himself.

She would find her grandson, even if she had to go call in every favor she was owed. It would all be worth it to meet him. She had abandoned Celeste in her time of need. There was no way she would make the same mistakes with her grandson, the last of her family.


	12. New Year's Update

Hello Everyone,

Sorry for the late update, been really busy with quarter end activities for work. As you may have guessed, this update is to let you know that I have yet to finish my new computer and properly retrieve the chapters stored on my old hard drive. I apologize for how long you all have gone without me, and it feels like even with the two chapters I rewrote and published were simply not enough to make up for the delay. Thanks to all those who reached out.

I would like to wish you all a belated Christmas and a very Happy New Year. May this next year be filled with health, wealth, and prosperity for you all. After the events of this year, I sincerely hope that the next year will bring us back to normal. I for one am sick of the masks in particular.

I've been obsessively watching a stockbot on Twitch to be able to snap up an Nvidia 3000 series GPU, but with the way things are going, we'll probably see the 4000 series before one can be in stock long enough to be bought. I'm also looking for some older GPUs on the used market for non-scalper prices, which is surprisingly difficult as everyone is capitalizing on the sky-high prices and unavailability of the newer GPUs to sell previous gen ones for premium prices.

Ah well, I'm confident the situation will be solved sooner or later. Stay safe and party hard, everyone. We survived 2020.

Party On,

AltruousAlliterator


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